


somethin' bout you

by missandrogyny



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (not the song), Alternate Universe - Thieves, Dom/sub Undertones, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Kidnapping, M/M, References to Stockholm Syndrome, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Vibrators, but it's not a dark fic, casino heist AU, slight Captain America: The Winter Soldier spoilers, sort of slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 10:04:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 59,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6606706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missandrogyny/pseuds/missandrogyny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all the government agents in the world, Louis had to go and land the most charming one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thunderstorms47](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderstorms47/gifts).



> Hello thunderstorms47! Thank you for the prompts you sent! I tweaked this one a bit (or actually, a lot) but I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it. 
> 
> My first massive thank you goes to my beta, [Zoe](http://happilysunlight.tumblr.com)!!. Without you, I'd probably have given up halfway and this fic would not even exist.
> 
> Second massive thank you goes to my britpick, [Grace](http://achilleus.tumblr.com)!!. Thank you so, so much for all your help! <3
> 
> And lastly, thank you to everyone who made this exchange happen!!
> 
>  
> 
> **Warnings: This fic contains allusions to Stockholm Syndrome. I tried my best to make it not as Stockholm Syndrome-y as possible, but there's only so much you can do with a kidnapping fic. However, it isn't a dark fic, I tried to make it as light-hearted as possible, but just bear this in mind as you read through it.**
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you all enjoy it!

The thing about casinos, Louis thinks, is that they're so _lavish_.

Plush carpeting, strange, extravagant light fixtures, dozens of poker, blackjack and roulette tables, hundreds of slot machines, and so many other games that occupy so much space. It's all very overwhelming, especially when it's peak-time. Everywhere you turn, it's just unimaginably rich people giving unfathomable amounts of money to _other_ rich people.

Louis doesn't get overwhelmed, not anymore, but there are moments, still, when he's caught off-guard at the sheer opulence of it all. There are days it still pisses him off—makes him feel like all the wealthy people are simply rubbing their money in his face—but he's learned to deal with it, learned to push down his disgust and mingle with the rest of them. Once he gets past the initial feeling of vexation, it can actually be a bit fun; pretending to put up airs, laughing, and wasting money without a care in the world.

Not tonight, though. Tonight, he's here on business.

He stands from the poker table, quickly brushing off the dust from his suit, and starts packing up his chips. He pays no attention to the people on his table who are making small talk—they sound absolutely boring—and quickly leaves the poker room, scanning through the casino.

It takes a few minutes until he finally spots Zayn, seated by the Blackjack table.

"How was your evening?" He asks, sliding into the vacant seat beside Zayn. There's always a vacant seat beside Zayn, because every time anyone tries to sit beside him, Zayn gives them the most unimpressed look ever. "Make any friends?"

Louis watches the corner of Zayn's mouth quirk up. "Very funny, Louis. Did _you_ make any friends?"

"Nah," Louis answers. "Made a lot of money, though." He shrugs. "Tourists. You know."

"You've got to stop hustling the tourists out of their money," Zayn scolds lightly, his eyes trained on his two cards. He catches the dealer's eye and taps the table in front of him. "Bad for tourism."

"It's not my fault that they're so bloody _bad_ at poker," Louis huffs. He crosses his arms. "Like, it's child's play, almost."

"Still," Zayn insists, as the dealer hands him card. He glances at it and sighs, before putting his three cards face down on the table. "At least pretend that they're a challenge?"

"Since when do you care about tourism anyway?" Louis grumbles good-naturedly.

"I don't," Zayn answers. He leans back, on his chair. "It's just nationalism, or whatever."

Louis raises his eyebrows. "Nationalism. Okay." That's a rather hilarious concept. He shakes his head. "But did you get what we're here for?"

Zayn looks at him from the corner of his eye. "Who do you think I am?" He asks. He pats his pocket, where Louis can see a sliver of a piece of paper. "Did _you_ get it?"

Louis picks up a key from his pocket and twirls it around his index finger. "Who do you think I am?" He mimics.

"Okay," Zayn says. Louis sees his mouth quirk up once more. He stands up from the Blackjack table. "Let's go."

. . .

In principle, the idea's easy.

The Thirlwall Hotel is a new, up and coming hotel near the centre of London. Although it doesn't have as big a name as the Hyatt or the Hilton, it's got a pretty good reputation for itself, with many choosing to stay there for its slightly-cheaper accommodation and its prime location. The casino as well, is rather commendable—it doesn't hold a candle, of course, to the casinos of the bigger, five-star hotels, but right now, they don't need flashy. They need something easy and quick, something they can get in and out of with no trouble whatsoever.

"It's standard," Sophia tells them, later that night, as she's poring over the blueprints Louis and Zayn managed to procure. "The vault. There's nothing specialized about it, so it'll be easy to steal from there."

"How easy?" James asks.

Sophia shrugs. "Too easy." She drags a manicured finger down the paper, skimming through the tiny text on it. "Way too easy, actually. We've encountered this kind of vault before."

Louis peeks over her shoulder, reading through the blueprint. "Hey," he says, when the parts start to look familiar. "That looks almost exactly like—"

"—the Twists' vault, yeah." She finishes. She worries on her bottom lip, her eyes still darting over the blueprint. "I'm inclined to believe that they got the design from them. It's a bit upgraded, but in essence the same. Same parts, same security features, the lot."

"What about other security?" Nick asks. He's sat on the couch beside James, typing something on his phone. "Do we need to be concerned about anything else?"

"Security cameras," Niall answers, from the other couch. He leans forward. "Lots of security cameras. Half a dozen alarm systems, and facial recognition biometric systems."

"So nothing out of the ordinary, then," Nick answers, typing it on his phone. "Alright. Louis knows what to do with those, don't you? I'll give you what you need, don't worry."

"So it doesn't have the laser security system thing?" Louis asks. "Because I hate those. I need a one week warning if I need to go all Mission Impossible, or whatever."

"None that I know of," Niall answers. "I could check the security layout again tomorrow, if you want. But I didn't see anything."

"All in all it sounds okay," Zayn says. "We just need to practice and relearn everything. The Twists' vault was years ago."

Nick pins Louis with a gaze. "And that didn't go so well."

Louis frowns. "We were able to get the money though."

"But at how much of a risk?" Nick asks. "Do you remember?"

It's not like Louis can ever forget. How could he, when one, stupid, careless mistake almost cost him everything he's worked for? Everything they've worked for?

"I'll be fine," he tells Nick, pushing down the sudden upsurge of memories. He turns to the room at large. "I'll be fine, I promise. I just need a bit of practice."

"I think we still have the simulation vaults," Liam says from beside Niall, his brows furrowed. "I think I've still got them somewhere."

"Do you think you can we upgrade certain security features?" She asks.

"If you have the blueprints, then yeah," Liam shrugs. "That's not a problem."

"Excellent," James says. "We start preparing tomorrow."

. . .

Louis thinks that, had he not had his team, he'd probably have gotten thrown into jail a long time ago.

See, Louis's an excellent thief—that's part of the reason why James recruited him in the first place—but he does have his shortcomings. He's horrible with security systems and alarms, and other higher end technology that's coming into the security market these days. He's terrible at geography, and he's prone to panicking when something doesn't go his way, especially during a heist. He's got a lot of flaws and blind spots that make him vulnerable, despite being really good at what he does.

That's why his team is the greatest blessing he's ever received. They complement him so well—their strengths are his weaknesses and vice versa, and when they work together, they're absolutely formidable. Probably unstoppable. A bit like the Avengers, without the superpowers. Only super skills.

. . .

The problem with heists is that no matter how hard you plan, no matter how much you practice unlocking the vaults, tinkering with security equipment and studying your routes, there's always something that's going to go wrong. It might be something tiny, something miniscule something easily fixed, or something big, that's going to take a lot more cleaning up than you originally intended. There's no such thing as a perfect heist.

The idea then, although easy in principle, is a bit shit when executed.

The security cameras were easy enough, it's just that the security blueprint was incredibly hard to read that they had almost missed some security cameras they were supposed to loop. Of course, they managed to do it eventually, but it set them back a few minutes.

It makes Louis antsy, makes him grow more and more frustrated as the minutes tick by. He's a horrible perfectionist, especially when it comes to jobs—there's a reason why he's the best in the business, a reason why James insists on keeping him on his team. He's always trying to pull off a near-perfect, almost flawless heist, and, well, having a horrible map _isn't_ something he needs to achieve that.

He follows Niall down the hallway once the security cameras are taken care of, and Zayn takes the back, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to make sure they're not followed. Niall leads them through another door, a series of hallways and corners, and through a few more doors, until they emerge in a room which, according to the damned security layout, is where the vault should be.

"This place is like a labyrinth, sorry," Niall murmurs as Zayn goes to work looping the other four security cameras in the room. He laughs quietly. "So many corridors and doors. Not something you'd expect from a hotel, eh, Tommo?"

Louis doesn't say anything, simply glares at Niall to shut up.

Niall laughs again. "Sorry," he says, and Louis rolls his eyes.

Although he's not really annoyed. This is sort of routine for them, to the point that Louis takes it into account when he's planning his heist schedule. Niall has a tendency to laugh and make small talk in stressful situations, like he's trying to hold on to any sense of normalcy, and Louis had learned early on that the trick to making him stop is to act like he's annoyed and not respond to any of the things he says. He learned that if he does respond, Niall starts speaking more and starts getting progressively louder, which isn't good.

Zayn finally manages to loop the final security camera, and he beckons them closer with a hand. There's a door on the end, one with the facial recognition biometric system, and Louis waits as Zayn brings out a handheld gadget and sticks it to the door.

He starts tapping on it, his eyes focused, and Louis hears the system come to life. He doesn't know what Zayn's doing, actually, but he sort of remembers Nick saying something about 'blocking the signal' and 'rewriting the code'. Zayn's always been the one who's more technologically inclined, so usually he and Niall let him handle all the things with the gadgets.

It's a few more minutes until Zayn turns to look at Louis, nodding his head in the direction of the system, and Louis steps in front of the machine. There's a sound, and then it's scanning his face, and Louis holds his breath.

" _Scan complete_ ," the machine chirps, and Louis exhales slowly. The door swings open.

He salutes Niall, who's staying outside as a lookout, and he and Zayn enter the room, the door swinging shut behind them. The door to the vault is about five feet away, and looks exactly how Louis remembers it.

He checks his watch. They've got about thirty minutes left.

"Let's go," he whispers to Zayn.

They set out looping the lone security camera in the room, then dismantling the security locks, picking the manual ones with surprising ease. The electronic ones are a bit harder, he and Zayn do something that sends out a tiny electromagnetic pulse and temporarily kills the power, enough for them to rewire and rewrite the lock. The biggest hurdle, though, is the coded lock, the code of which changes every six hours.

Zayn has all the codes in the gadget in his hand, though. It's just a matter of finding which one.

Zayn attaches his little gadget onto the vault, and starts furiously tapping at it, his brows furrowed at what he can see on the tiny screen. He's reading lines of code, probably, something that Louis has no hope of ever understanding. Nick had tried to teach him once, when they started out the same team, but had given up after three sessions, calling Louis hopeless.

Louis watches as Zayn stops tapping, his eyes lit up by the glow of his screen, and it's a few more minutes until the lock itself is moving, the electronic screen slowly changing into a series of numbers, until suddenly, there's a loud click.

Louis moves, reaching over to pull the vault door. It goes easily, and Louis salutes Zayn, before slipping inside the vault, the huge door falling shut and locking him inside.

He checks his watch. Twenty-two minutes left.

He quickly sets up his portable light in the corner, just so he can see the money. It's all there, stacks and stacks and stacks of it, and Louis has to tamp down on his growing smile.

He pulls out the bags and starts stacking the money inside it, moving quickly but thoroughly through the vault. He's done this so many times it's almost natural for him; his body knows what he wants to achieve and moves on its own accord.

He clears the vault in about seven minutes, giving him about fifteen minutes to put into motion his exit plan and actually leave the premises.

"Serves them right for having a shitty security blueprint," he murmurs to himself, feeling smug. "Now they're getting robbed."

He hears the click of a gun. He freezes.

Slowly, he turns around.

"Fuck," he whispers.

There's a silhouette of a _man_ standing in front of him. He's tall and broad-shouldered, and Louis can see, even with very minimal light, that he's dressed in a suit. He's got a cocked gun in his hand and Louis is _so_ fucked.

At least until he steps forward, into the light. Then Louis goes from fucked, to fucked _and_ dead. Probably.

"Oh," _Agent Harry Styles_ says, in shock. He recovers quickly, raising his gun and pointing it straight at Louis. "You."

"Me," Louis answers mindlessly. "You."

Fuck, Harry looks older, much older than Louis remembers. He's taller as well, and his hair's so long, his chocolate curls falling down the side of his face and brushing his well-tailored suit. His eyes though. His eyes are the exact same since the last time Louis saw him. Green and really fucking _angry_.

"Freeze," Harry says, his eyes trained on Louis. His hand doesn't even shake. "Don't move."

"What is this?" Louis asks incredulously, but raises his hands all the same. "What are you even doing here?"

"Don't move," Harry spits out. His eyes dart to the bags of cash by Louis' feet, and back to Louis' face. "Don't even talk."

"Are you the phantom of the Thirlwall casino?" Louis continues, because fuck this agent, really. "Are you going to start singing opera music?"

"I said," Harry says, his voice angrier. "Don't talk."

" _What_ were you doing inside the vault?" Louis asks.

"That doesn't concern you, now shut up." He hoists his gun a bit higher, aims it at Louis' chest. "Shut up, or I'll shoot."

His hand is steady, sure, his finger on the trigger. Louis has no doubt that he will.

But he's running out of _time_. If he goes over his allotted time, they'll get caught. Actually, properly caught, not just one lone agent standing in front of him with a gun and a steady hand.

And Harry's so obviously alone. Louis can see it, from the set of his shoulders and the way he seems to be alert, on edge. He's always been a rather open book, and Louis had gotten really good at reading people, and he can see the shock at actually finding someone etched in the lines of Harry's face, can see the way his thoughts reflect on his face, can tell that Harry's unsure, and dare he say, _scared_.

Harry's eyes dart once more from Louis' face, to the bags of cash by his feet, and in that split second, Louis jumps him.

He pounces on Harry, catching him off-guard and making him drop his gun, and shoves him  hard to the steel wall. Harry's head hits the wall, and he groans in pain, but Louis doesn't let up, simply bashes his head back again.

Harry's hands come up to grip his shoulders, and he's shoving Louis away with surprising force, enough to make Louis topple back. His green eyes are blazing, and he growls, before looking down and diving for his gun.

Louis' quicker though, and he kicks it away from Harry's grip and towards himself, picking it up and pointing it toward Harry. Harry immediately stills, and there's no sound in the room except the sound of Harry's hard breathing.

"Now you freeze," Louis says, trying not to fumble with the gun. It's a heavy weight in his hand, the ridges on the grip rough, familiar. He _hates_ it.

Harry eyes him quietly, studying Louis' face, before looking straight into the barrel of the gun. He doesn't even look fazed, being held at gunpoint.

Louis' hand shakes. Harry's eyes flash back up at Louis, and then, as Louis blinks, Harry makes a grab for the gun.

Louis has always had good reflexes, though, so he pulls it as far away as he can from Harry's reach, and then when Harry's about a breath away from him, he bashes the butt of the gun on Harry's head.

Harry crumbles like a rag doll.

_Fuck_ , Louis thinks, breathing heavily, his heart hammering in his chest. This is not good.

He quickly drops the gun, hard enough that it makes a loud clattering sound that resonates in the emptiness of the vault. He takes a few deep breaths to calm himself down, before leaning down to check on Harry.

He's breathing. That's good enough for him.

He checks his watch. He's got thirteen minutes left, and he's essentially locked in a vault.

He gets to work.

The steel in front of him is bulletproof and will not give way; it's practically without fault, he remembers Sophia telling him while they were practicing for this heist. He can't knock on the steel wall and just tell Zayn to open it for him—Zayn wouldn't be able to hear him; the metal is incredibly thick. He also can't pick the huge security lock from inside.

But he knows this vault, studied it twice over, and the thing is, it's got a little trick, a quirk, just in case anyone gets stuck inside. He can't just shut off the power, that'll make the vault seal shut. No, what he needs to do is separate the power with the emergency locking mechanism, dismantle the alarm, and then cut the power.

He runs his hand through the wall, knocking on it as quickly as possible, until he finds a panel that emits a hollow sound. He finds the next few panels just as his watch tells him he's got ten minutes left, and he gets to work, unwiring and dismantling the alarm, disabling the emergency locking mechanism. It's all a bit complicated and it consists of more wires than anyone could imagine, but Liam and Sophia's simulation vaults are incredibly thorough, and has taught Louis so much.

He finally manages to get the wires how he wants it, and he reaches in his belt for a pair of pliers. He locates the wire he needs, triple-checks it, and then cuts it.

The power shuts down.

He hears a click, and then the door is opening, Zayn pushing the door open.

"Took you long enough," Zayn says, hoisting one of the bags full of cash over his shoulder. He scans through the room, double-checking, until his eyes fall on Harry's prone form. "Louis."

"I know, okay, fuck," Louis says, his voice on the verge of panic. He looks at his watch. They have eight minutes to get out of this room and make a quick getaway, before security checks on the vault. They can make it, if they run. "We don't have much time."

"Louis," Zayn says again, his tone brooking no argument. It makes Louis panic even more. "Did he see you?"

"Yes, Zayn but," Louis runs a shaking hand through his hair. "He's not dead."

Zayn exhales loudly. "This is bad."

"You think I don't know that?" Louis snaps.

"Why was he in the vault with you?" Zayn asks, and really, Zayn should not be asking questions right now. They have seven and a half minutes to make a clean getaway, and that thought is sending Louis into hysterics.

"I don't know," he exclaims. "He's fucking weird? He wanted to immerse himself and investigate like in the films?"

"Louis."

"Zayn," he begs. "We really don't have much time." He looks back at Harry's unconscious form. He can see the rise and fall of Harry's chest,  which helps calm him down a bit. At least Harry's not dead, but, fuck, they can't leave him here, what if he wakes up, what if he tells on Louis, what if—"

That's when it hits him. "Bring him."

"What?"

"Let's  bring him with us."

"Back to headquarters?! Louis, are you fucking insane—"

"He's unconscious, and he saw me Zayn, he had a good look at who I am he—" Louis' voice turns pleading, "—fuck, Zayn, please, let's bring him with us."

Zayn studies him for three, long beats. Then he drops the bag, and picks Harry up, slinging one hand over his shoulder. "We'll bring him."

They bring him back to headquarters.  

. . .

"You're a fucking idiot, Tomlinson," Nick hisses angrily, when they're back in headquarters. He pushes Louis back, and steps into Louis' space, towering over him. "You _jeopardized_ our entire team."

Louis bristles. "Fuck you, Grimshaw," he shoots back. He forces himself to stand taller, to look Nick in the eye. "What was I supposed to do?!"

"Oh, I don't know," Nick sneers. "Leave him there? Like a smart person?"

"That's the dumbest idea, actually," Louis answers back, fuming. "In case you didn't understand me the _first_ time, he fucking saw me! He had a good look at who I was!"

_He probably even knows your name_ , a small voice in his head says. _Probably even remembers it_.

Louis pushes that thought away.

"So what, you decided you had to take the team down with you? Our entire operation?" Nick asks scathingly. He's breathing heavily now, his eyes  angry. "You were fucking careless, Tomlinson and—"

"I wasn't," Louis snaps. He clenches his fists, trying to stop himself from decking Nick Grimshaw, right then and there. "I did everything as thoroughly as I could—"

"Then why the fuck is he here?!" Nick says furiously, pointing at where Harry's unconscious body sits, handcuffed to a wooden chair. "Why the fuck didn't you see him?! And why the fuck did you get the bright idea that you had to bring him to our _top-secret headquarters—_ "

He raises a fist, and Louis is just about ready to fight when he's being pulled back, an unamused Zayn standing in front of him.

"Grimshaw," he says, his tone a warning. One of his hands come up to shield Louis. "Don't."

"Stay out of this, Malik," Nick growls. "We're fucking ruined, all because of him."

"It's not Louis' fault," Zayn says. His face shows no emotion whatsoever. "Styles was in the vault, waiting. We didn't expect him."

"But that doesn't change the fact that he _brought a fucking agent to our headquarters—_ "

"Fuck you," Louis explodes. He doesn't know why Nick doesn't shut up and fucking _listen_ to him. "He was alone! He saw what I looked like! If I left him there, there's absolutely no doubt that he'd run to his fucking cop friends and blab about everything, and then we'd be fucking done."

"Right," Nick answers scathingly, "Cause it's not as if we're fucking done now. I mean, there's just a government agent in our headquarters, no big deal—"

"What would you have done, dickhead—"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe not have brought an agent into headquarters, for one—"

"It's not like I fucking want him to be here—"

"Shut up," James says coldly, from where he's seated on the couch in the other side of the room. "Shut up, both of you."

Everyone turns to look at him. His face looks calm, unaffected, but his eyes are angry, staring straight at Louis. "It wasn't Louis' fault that Styles was there. We didn't anticipate his presence."

"He was locked in the vault," Louis hears Niall mutter from the other couch. "Of course we didn't expect a person in the fucking vault."

"That being said, Louis," James' tone grows a touch angrier, enough to make Louis' heart beat  faster. "Nick is right, you've just killed our entire operation."

Louis feels himself growing even angrier at that. "If anything, I saved our operation, James. _Again_ , if you didn't understand, he had a good look at my face—"

"And you brought him here, because you wanted to save your fucking arse," James snaps, "with no thought whatsoever about everyone else's."

Louis falls silent at that. In front of him, Zayn shifts uncomfortably.

James sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. "Louis," he says, "You know you're my best thief, yeah? But sometimes you're just so incredibly _selfish_."

Instantly, Louis feels guilty. James isn't one to get mad a lot, so when you _do_ make him mad, it means that you've fucked up. And judging by how mad he is, Louis' fucked up big time.

He shuffles closer to Zayn, casting his eyes on the floor. Zayn, because he's a wonderful best friend and can read Louis immediately, instantly shifts, enough so that he can sling his arm over Louis' shoulder. It's not much of a hug, but it makes Louis feel that much better.

It's a few more minutes of quiet until James takes a deep breath, pulling his hand off his face.

"Right," he says, his tone business-like. "We have a government agent in our midst. Any ideas?"

There are a few quiet mumbles that Louis can't make out.

"Kill him," Nick eventually mutters loudly.

"No, we do not kill people, Nicholas," James answers, sounding like a nursery teacher at the end of his wits. If it wasn't inappropriate, Louis might actually laugh. "We do heists. We do not murder. Murder is bad."

Nick just shrugs. "Have you got any better ideas, then?"

Liam raises his hand. "Maybe we can just let him go?"

"Now why would we do that, Liam?" James asks.

"That's the only other option, isn't it?" Liam answers. "We kill him or we let him go. Besides, he only saw Louis, so all we really need to do is to make sure Louis is well-disguised on the next mission, or just keep him out of the next few ones for a bit, at least until Styles here forgets him."

"Will he forget though?" Zayn asks.

"He's unconscious," Liam answers. "How much will he even remember when he wakes up?"

"I vote letting him go," Sophia says, raising her hand from where she's seated beside James. "Liam's right, Louis is the only one he knows. It's not that hard to keep one person hidden. If we really need to, I'm sure Zayn and Niall can do the next heist without Louis."

"Sophia, our next heist is the fucking _Leviathan_ ," Niall answers, straightening up. "There's absolutely no way we can do that without Louis. Like James said, he's our best thief."

"But he's also our biggest liability right now," Sophia shoots back. "If we let Agent Styles go, he'll definitely go to his colleagues, and everyone will be looking for Louis. It's too big of a risk."

"Can't we postpone the heist?" Niall asks.

"For how long?" Sophia asks incredulously. "We've got it scheduled in a month. We have to do it then, or else we're going to have to wait until next year to get that same amount of money. And you know we can't afford to do that."

Niall falls silent, mulling over Sophia's words. Louis knows she makes sense, she _always_ makes sense. Nick may be the best, when it comes to technology, but Sophia is hands-down the smartest member on their team.

"If it helps," says Liam, after a few moments, "we could have you and Zayn go through the simulation by yourselves to practice without Louis?"

"But I really feel like Louis needs to be there," Niall insists. He looks determined, like he won't back down unless he gets what he wants. Niall is very rarely ever stubborn, but when he is, he really digs his heels in. "Maybe we could just give him a ski mask or something?"

"Actually," Nick muses. "Why don't you all wear ski masks next time? So we don't have incidents like this—" he inclines his head towards Harry's unconscious form, "—again."

"We'll wear one when we do the Leviathan," Niall dismisses."But—"

"Shut up," Zayn interrupts suddenly, and the entire room falls quiet. Louis watches as Zayn cocks his head, his eyes glued onto Harry, still unconscious on the chair.

And then, in a sudden burst of movement, Zayn is stalking to the other side of the room, grabbing a handful of Harry's curls, and yanking his head back. Harry's eyes fly open in shock, and shit, he's _awake_.

Harry glares at Zayn."Let go of me," he says, his voice low, gravelly. The tone of his voice makes Louis' heart beat faster.

Zayn doesn't say anything,  simply stares down at Harry with quiet disinterest. Louis watches as the muscles in Zayn's hand flex, almost as if he were gripping Harry's hair even harder.

Harry winces, but doesn't say anything. He's trying to struggle out of his cuffs, his arms straining under the sleeves of his suit jacket. The little bit of skin visible on his wrist looks raw, chafed, as if he'd been struggling for quite a long time now.

Fuck, that means he heard _everything_.

"It's a shame," Nick mutters, loud enough for everyone to hear. He seems to have come to the same conclusion as Louis. "Now we're _really_ going to have to kill him."

Harry barks out a laugh at that. It sounds angry. "You can try."

"Zayn," James says. His face is stormy.  "Stay there, watch Agent Styles. The rest of you, basement, _now_."

. . .

The basement is cold, dark, and damp, and it's not exactly Louis' favourite place in the entire house. Actually, it's probably nobody's favourite place in the house, but it's the second largest room in the house, next to the living room where Zayn and Harry are, so it's of no question that their gathering ends up here.

"Are we going to kill him now?" Nick asks carelessly, trotting in the basement like they're here for anything other than discussing the death of our operation. He plops down on one of the old couches there for storage, before wincing and rubbing his arse. "Ow."

"No, we're not going to kill him, Nick," James answers. He's started pacing in front of the couch, his shoes scuffling on the concrete, and Louis decides to get out of his way, sitting down on the seat beside Nick. Liam follows, sitting right next to him, throwing an arm over Louis' shoulder and squeezing.

"But we can't just let him go," Liam says, his thumb rubbing circles into Louis' arm. It feels nice. "So are we killing him?" He asks blandly, affecting Nick's careless tone. "Weren't those the only two options?"

"We don't kill people, Liam," James answers, still pacing. His eyes are focused on the floor. "Besides, none of you even know how to kill."

"I've killed," Niall volunteers. He perches on the armrest beside Nick's seat. "I've killed bugs and stuff."

"He means a person," Sophia chastises, perching on the armrest beside Liam's seat. "None of you have killed a person."

"Well, it can't be too hard," Nick says, dignified.

"You do it then," Louis answers, rolling his eyes. Nick can be a huge idiot, at times. "Kill agent Styles."

"No, nobody's killing anybody," James interrupts. He stops pacing, and fixes each one of them with the glare. Immediately, everyone straightens up, giving James their full attention.

See, this is why they _need_ James. Without him, they'd probably just devolve into a squabbling mess of children.

"Now," James says, his voice deceptively calm. "Upstairs, with Zayn, we have a government agent, who, one, knows our names, two, knows our faces, and three, knows our plan. So, if we would all please be serious, for once, maybe we can figure out something to do. That does _not_ involve killing."

James' gaze turns to Louis. Louis tries not to fidget.

"Does anyone have any ideas?"

Liam raises a hand. "How much do you think he's heard?"

"I'm assuming everything," James answers. "More or less."

"Bloody Tomlinson," Nick says, rolling his eyes. He leans back on the old couch. "Can't even knock a guy out right."

"Hey," Louis shoots back. He clenches his hands into fists. "How about I practice on you _right now—_ "

"I'd like to see your midget arse try—"

"What if," Sophia interrupts, leaning forward. She shoots Louis and Nick a glare, one that has them both shutting up, before turning back to the room at large. "What if we just keep him here?"

The entire room freezes.

"...Keep him here?" Niall asks, his voice unsure. Louis can relate. "What do you mean by 'keep him here'?"

"Exactly that," Sophia answers. "We keep him here, at least until we do the Leviathan, and then we let him go when we're done and make a run for it."

"Sophia," Liam says, "he knows where we're staying—"

"So we'll move," she says, shrugging, like it's the easiest thing in the world. Which, it isn't. "We'll find a new place to hide out, plan our heists. One he doesn't know about yet."

"But he still knows our names," Nick argues. "Our faces."

"Not our last names, though," Sophia tells him, simply, easily. Like she's thought about this before. "He can't find us without a last name, unless he's willing to trawl through a hundred thousand profiles." She crosses her legs, balancing precariously on the arm rest. "If he does choose to do that, it'll take a while before he finds us, and we can use that time to disappear."

It actually makes a lot of sense. They can save their arses without having to commit bodily harm. They just have to keep Harry here for a month at most, and then they'll release him and run, set-up their base somewhere else.

It's a logical plan. The problem is, well, the ethics of it.

"So you're saying," James says slowly, while the others mull over the idea. He's got his eyes fixed on Sophia, giving her his full attention. He must've come to the same conclusion as Louis. "You want us to essentially _kidnap_ a government agent?"

"It's not kidnapping," Sophia replies, dignified. "I don't think it's considered kidnapping when you're not asking for anything in return."

"We're going to make him a prisoner, then," James corrects.

"Sort of, " Sophia answers. "I don't like the term, though. But we'll treat him nicely, of course, give him food, water, shower, bed—liveable conditions, really, it's just that, well, he won't be able to leave. Not until we say so."

"To save our arses."

"To save our arses," Sophia confirms grimly.

James takes a deep breath. It's quiet for a few minutes, the rest of the team still catching up, trading glances among each other. Louis catches Niall's eye, then Liam's, the three of them communicating through a shared glance. It's honestly a better idea than anything they can think of.

"Has anyone got any better ideas?" James calls out.

. . .

They stomp up the stairs in single file, making their way back into the living room. Zayn is still there, lounging on the couch, facing Harry. His face is expressionless, almost bored-looking, even.

In contrast, Harry's face is angry, glaring straight at Zayn. His hands are still tied to the chair, like he hasn't moved the entire time they were downstairs, but Louis can see his wrists, more chafed than they were a few minutes ago.

He's not getting out of that. Liam had made sure of it.

"So?" Zayn asks, when he catches sight of them. He pushes himself up, rearranging his limbs so that he ends up seated properly on the couch. "What are we going to do with him?"

James takes a deep breath. "We're keeping him."

Instantly, Zayn's eyes snap to Louis. "We're not," he says, but it sounds unsure. He's still got his poker face on, but Louis can see where the mask cracks, can see the emotion in his eyes.

James sighs. "We're keeping him," he repeats.

"You're not keeping me," Harry says slowly, incredulously. He struggles against his bonds, his biceps bulging. "You're fucking _kidnapping_ me."

He turns to look at every single person on the room, his eyes landing on Louis last. His face is stormy, mutinous.

"Did you know that kidnapping is a crime?" Harry asks, not taking his eyes away from Louis. He narrows his eyes. "Even more so when the person being kidnapped is a government agent?"

Louis narrows his eyes right back. "We're not kidnapping you," he answers angrily. He crosses his arms. "We're not asking for anything in return."

"Holding me hostage, then," Harry corrects. He struggles again, his muscles straining, shifting under the fabric of his shirt.

"You're not a hostage," Louis snaps.

"Then let me go this instant," Harry demands.

"You know we're not going to do that."

Harry glares at him ferociously, anger etched on the lines of the face. He looks nothing like the sweet boy Louis met three years ago, with the kind eyes and pretty smile and deepest dimple Louis' ever seen on anyone.

That's because he's probably _not_ the sweet boy from three years ago. That boy was a farce. Louis doesn't even know why he's thinking about him, right now. Harry may look a lot like him, but they're different in the ways that matter. _Especially_ in the ways that matter.

"Prisoner," Harry says. His voice is acid, biting. "You're making me your prisoner."

"Call it what you want," Louis says dismissively. "Practice your vocabulary if you have to, we're still not letting you go."

He can feel the eyes of his team on him, but he doesn't turn to look at them, doesn't even try to break eye-contact with Harry. Breaking eye-contact is a sign of weakness, of losing, and Louis is not weak, nor does he want to lose. Not anymore.

"Liam," James says, from somewhere beside him. "Untie Agent Styles and put him in the cupboard downstairs. And then stay there and guard him."

"A cupboard?" Harry spits out, as Liam sets about untying Harry from the chair, which he does in record time "Really?" His wrists are still bound tightly behind his back, ensuring that he'll be unable to escape. Or fight Liam.

Louis doubts he'll be able to fight of Liam, anyway. Harry may be a trained government agent, but Liam is burly, stronger than Harry, and, despite his looks, isn't afraid to fight dirty. He's learned how to from Louis.

James doesn't respond to his statement, simply glares him down and Harry and Liam go, down to the basement to the cupboard. Harry glares at Louis the entire way out, which Louis returns—if he had any qualms about the ethics of what they're doing, it's all gone now. Harry can stay down there for however long, Louis doesn't care.

Zayn sidles up to him, his arm brushing Louis'. "Hey," he says quietly, so none of the others overhear, "will you be okay with him around?"

Louis sighs. "I'll be fine," he says reassuringly. Zayn is his best friend, and is the only one who knows everything that happened, three years ago. "It's not like I have a choice. Unless I want to kill our entire operation and send us all to jail."

Zayn hums thoughtfully. "We're keeping him here for how long?"

"Until the Leviathan."

"Damn, that's a month."

"It's _just_ a month," Louis corrects. "Nothing more than that. I'll just avoid him until he goes. Stay out of his way."

It's probably easier said than done but Zayn doesn't comment on it. Instead he claps Louis on the back then moves away, murmuring something about going back to his room and _'if you still need to talk, Lou, I'm here, yeah?_ ' Louis is really very lucky to have a best friend in Zayn.

"Well," says James, calling the attention of the room to him. He suddenly looks very old, exhausted; and instantly Louis feels bad. It wasn't supposed to end up like this. It was supposed to be quick and easy, with absolutely no complications. "Let's all get some rest, yeah? It's been a long day. Niall," he says, turning to address the boy in question, "you take over for Liam in four hours."

It's a testament to the respect their group has for James when Niall doesn't even complain about having to wake up in the middle of the night, simply nods and accepts the order. James, although their friend, is their leader, first and foremost, and Louis knows that he speaks for everyone when he says they owe James their life.

. . .

"Nick's down there with him," is the first thing Niall says to him ten hours later, as he slides into his seat at their tiny dining table. He's cradling a cup of coffee in his hands and he looks exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes.

Louis carefully takes a bite out of his cereal. "Okay, but did I ask?"

"Nah," Niall answers. "Just thought you should know." He pointedly takes a sip from his coffee mug, very obviously trying to communicate something to Louis. Louis pretends not to notice.

People often have this tendency to overlook Niall, to reduce him into nothing but a bubbly, happy-go-lucky guy. Don't get Louis wrong, Niall's a happy-go-lucky guy, but he's also so perceptive, incredibly so, even. There's a reason why Niall's always their inside man, especially when they're planning a heist. Niall just observes and draws his own conclusions quietly and nobody ever suspects him.

"Good morning, lads," Liam greets, sliding into the seat beside Niall, a cereal bowl in his hand. He takes one look at Louis' cereal bowl and makes a face. "Ugh, I still don't know how you can eat that."

"Hey, it tastes good!" Louis protests. He takes a bite out of his cereal for emphasis.

Liam's face scrunches up even more. "It doesn't _look_ good," he says, still eyeing Louis' cereal bowl. "It looks so weird. Three different cereals in one bowl. Doesn't that taste weird?"

That's because Liam doesn't understand the _art_ of cereal mixing. "There are ratios to it," Louis argues, like he always does when Liam gets on his back about his cereal choices. "I don't just dump however much into it. If I did that, then yes, of course it would taste weird, but there are _ratios_."

Liam still doesn't look convinced. "Okay," he says, unbelievingly. "I believe you."

Louis rolls his eyes. Liam's so annoying.

"So," Liam says, turning to Niall. "How's our guest down there?"

Niall shrugs, unperturbed. "Nick's with him now," he answers, "but he was fine during my watch. Nice. Quiet. Even said 'thank you' when I handed him an extra blanket."

Louis' eyebrows climb up. "You got him an extra blanket?"

Niall gives him a look. "Uh, yeah," he answers. "It's cold in the basement cupboard, in case you forgot. One blanket isn't really enough to keep warm." He takes another sip of his coffee. "And I really don't want him freezing to death on our watch."

Niall has a point. It's bad enough that they've essentially kidnapped a government agent, but it would be worse if they accidentally kill him. Way worse.

For all their joking about killing him, none of them actually _want_ to do that.

"But, yeah, he was chill," Niall continues. "Seems like a pretty nice guy as well. Had some great stories to tell."

Louis' pretty sure his eyebrows are halfway up his forehead. "Stories?"

Niall shrugs. "Yeah? He seemed really sad so I asked him what were the coolest missions he's had so far working as a government agent."

"I refuse to believe that he answered that question."

"He didn't," Niall answers. "So we ended up talking about cop films instead. He really liked _21 Jump Street_."

If Louis' eyebrows could climb into his hairline, he's pretty sure they'd be doing that, now.

"But his favourite film," Niall continues, unperturbed by the faces Louis is pretty sure he's making, " _has_ to be _The Godfather_."

"Ooh, isn't that a mafia film?" Liam asks. "A government agent who likes mafia films. How cool."

"He said he doesn't like all mafia films," Niall answers. "Just the one. Have to agree with him there, though. Mafia films nowadays are shit. _The Godfather_ is truly a masterpiece."

"I haven't seen it," Liam says, pouting. "Do you have the DVD? Can we watch it sometime?"

"Sure," Niall answers easily. "Maybe we can watch it downstairs sometime. Harry might want to watch it with us."

Louis blinks. And blinks again. And blinks three hundred times more. "Um, do you not find it strange that you're talking about watching a film with the government agent imprisoned in our basement?"

Niall and Liam simultaneously raise an eyebrow at him. "He's not imprisoned," Liam says. "He's not a prisoner."

"But he actually is," Louis argues. He leans forward. "No matter how we try to spin it, we've still got a government agent captured against his will in our basement, and if that's not the definition of a prisoner, then I don't know what is."

"Doesn't mean we have to treat him badly," Niall answers. "Or completely ignore that he exists. He's a _person_ , Louis, and a pretty nice one at that." He crosses his arms. "Besides, we said we'd give him liveable conditions. Food, clothing, water, and a bed. The basement cupboard is _not_ liveable conditions."

"What do you want me to do about that?" Louis asks.

Niall shrugs. "What _you_ can do is remember that he's still a person, who likes talking to other people, and not some sort of pet we just picked up from somewhere." He stands, picking up his now-empty coffee mug from the table. "I'm going to talk to James about the living conditions a bit later."

He leaves the table, dropping the mug into the sink before exiting the kitchen, and Louis can do nothing but stare at Niall's retreating back. Niall seems to have grown a bit...Louis hesitates to say 'attached' but, he can't think of another word.

"He's not horrible, Tommo," Liam tells him, bringing Louis back from his thoughts. "He's quiet and he's not a lot of trouble to watch. He wants to leave, yeah, who wouldn't, but he's not being horrible about it."

Louis doesn't say anything.

. . .

Turns out, Niall doesn't have to bring up Harry's living conditions to James. Nick storms up the basement stairs after his shift and all but _demands_ for a group meeting.

"The cupboard is tiny," Nick rants, pacing in front of all of them, waving his arms around dramatically. "And it doesn't even have a fucking _bathroom_. How do you expect him to live there for a month?"

Louis sits perfectly still, in between James and Liam, watching Nick pace in front of him.

"It's one thing if he were kicking up a fuss," Nick continues, not losing steam. "But he's nice and quiet and _well-behaved—_ " he emphasizes the last word "—and says 'please' and 'thank you' like a polite little toddler and even if he is a government agent, he should not be kept in those horrible conditions." He shudders dramatically. "It's freezing down there, for one, and sometimes it smells of piss and mothballs."

"Hear hear," Niall calls out, from the other couch.

"What do you want us to do?" James asks. He laces his fingers together and places it on his lap, giving Nick his full attention.

Nick stops pacing, and his shoulders sag. Louis can kind of guess what he's going to say next. "Let him come up here."

Louis may have been expecting that, but he still draws in a sharp breath at that pronouncement. In his peripheral vision, he sees Niall and Liam nodding furiously at what Nick said.

Nick seems emboldened by Niall and Liam's reactions. "He shouldn't stay down there," he says, the fire returning to his voice. "And in the _cupboard_ , no less. He's Agent Harry Styles, not Harry Potter or summat. I say we let him have a room upstairs."

Nobody responds immediately after Nick finishes speaking, very obviously mulling over the idea. Nick stays still in front of them, anxiously watching their reactions. Louis doesn't know what he's hoping to find.

"We did say liveable conditions," Sophia says, clearly toying with the idea. She leans forward. "But if we let him up here, he'll see our operations, and we can't risk that, especially since we're letting him go after."

Nick runs a hand through his quiff. "Then put him in a room. A _proper_ room, with a bed and, like, a bathroom, where he can actually breathe proper, clean oxygen, not some piss-and-mothballs-infused gas. I'll code the door, so he's got no access beyond that room, and okay, it might still not be the most humane solution, but it's better than the fucking basement cupboard, God. Wrong Harry, really."

James stays silent. And then, "We haven't got any extra rooms."

"Then we'll make one," Nick answers confidently, sounding like he's thought this through. "Maybe one of us can lend their room, for the time being. Not me, of course," Nick sniffs haughtily, "I already sleep in the attic."

Nick likes to act like he's got the worst room in their headquarters, but everyone knows that he actually _likes_ staying there, likes the peace and quiet up there, especially when he's hacking, or devising computer programs or just simply coding. Besides, it wouldn't do any good to give him a room downstairs—Nick needs utmost concentration when designing his computer programs, and they can be quite a distracting bunch.

"We weren't going to give him the attic, anyway," James tells him. "We're giving him an ensuite, right? That cancels out all the other rooms."

"But there are only two ensuites," Sophia pipes up, frowning. "Mine and yours. Your room is out of the question, obviously, and I refuse to give up my room. Lady reasons."

"We could still put him in a normal room?" Liam tries. "And just accompany him whenever he needs to go?"

"That would be a huge inconvenience," James answers. He leans back, on the couch, thinking, and Louis tries to draw himself smaller, tries not to bring any attention to himself—

"Louis."

Louis doesn't wince. "Yeah?"

"Louis, your room is connected to the bathroom, isn't it?"

"Yeah?" Louis says again. His room's got a door to the bathroom, but there's also another door that connects to the hallway of their second floor, so that everyone can use it. It's kind of like a Jack-and-Jill bathroom thing.

James is staring at him a question in his eyes. So is everyone else, Louis realizes, and God, he knows a lost cause when he sees one.

Besides, they're not wrong. This is probably the most logistical option.

Louis sighs. "You're going to have to code the bathroom as well, unless you want him to escape through there."

. . .

Moving out of his room doesn't take as long as Louis expected. It helps that he's only got a few personal affects, so it's not too much of a hassle transferring it into Zayn's room.

Harry is quiet when Zayn leads him into Louis' now-bare bedroom, his eyes blindfolded. Zayn quickly takes off the blindfold, and immediately, Harry's eyes dart left and right, taking in his surroundings, before they land on Louis.

"Is this where I'll stay?" He asks, and Louis is a bit taken aback by how...nice he sounds. He sounds like he's making pleasant small talk with a friend.

Louis forces himself to nod. "Um, the sheets are clean, I've just changed them. There's some clothes in the closet, should you fancy a change, and," he inclines his head, "bathroom is this way. It's coded, of course, so you can't escape through there, but. You can use it, if you want."

Harry nods, his face carefully blank. He takes another look at the room and Louis tries not to fidget as he watches Harry drink in his surroundings, his eyes lingering by the bed.

"Thank you," Harry says quietly, when he turns to look at Louis again. His face is still blank, but his eyes are sincere. "Was this your room?"

"Yeah," Louis answers, without thinking. And then he bites down on his tongue, before he can say anything more. He shouldn't reveal anything about himself. Harry is the enemy.

But then again, it's a rather harmless piece of knowledge, isn't it? It's not like Harry will go back and tell his colleagues and superiors that he slept in Louis' room for the duration of the time he was kidnapped. It's not really relevant to anything,

"Thank you," Harry repeats again, politely. "I really appreciate it."

He turns around, eyeing the bed again, and Louis takes that as his cue to leave. He shuts the door behind him, effectively locking Harry into the room, before rejoining Zayn, who's waiting for him in the hallway.

"Why do group meetings always happen without me," Zayn grumbles good-naturedly, elbowing Louis in the ribs.

Louis elbows him back. "I didn't call for _this_ group meeting," he tells Zayn, rolling his eyes. "Nick went all dramatic and Niall and Liam silently backed him up. They seem to like Styles, for some reason, and, I don't know."

"And now I have a roommate," Zayn says, "a surprise roommate." He snorts when he sees Louis' indignant face. "Don't worry, if I had to room with anyone, I'd definitely choose you."

Louis snorts. "That's definitely a lie."

"Just shut up, and take the compliment, alright?"

. . .

"Okay," James says, clapping his hands in front of him. He looks straight into the eye of every single one of his team, making sure they're all ready and willing to listen to him. His eyes catch on Louis' last.  "Now that we've sort of dealt with the issue of Agent Styles, and we're sure he's not going to die anytime soon, let's discuss the _reason_ why we kept him here in the first place."

He taps a button on his iPhone, and immediately a Powerpoint presentation lights up the wall behind him. It's very university-like, but Louis knows James likes his Powerpoints. Apparently, it's an easy way to organize his thoughts and his points.

James taps another button on his iPhone, and immediately, a diagram of the safe comes up. Louis doesn't need to study it closely to know exactly which safe this is.

"The Leviathan," James starts, gesturing to the photo behind him. "Located at the heart of London, below two hundred feet of solid earth. It has a premiere, state-of-the-art security system, the best in the market right now."

"But, what is inside this vault?" James presses another button, and a series of hotels pop up behind him. Again, Louis knows them all, can recognize them simply by their facade. "Money, of course. Lots and lots of money. Specifically, all the money from the casinos of the Hadid, the Jenner, and of course, the Calder. Three of the top hotels here in London."

And the three hotels with the most gross income every year, James doesn't say. Louis hears it, though. They all hear it.

Beside him, Zayn shifts in his seat, leaning forward a bit. His face is still emotionless, like it is most of the time, but Louis knows that he's listening intently, knows that he wants to find out how much money they're aiming on acquiring.

"Government law dictates that a casino must hold and reserve enough cash to cover every chip on its floor," James continues. His voice is light, airy, as if he were simply retelling a fairytale. "That means on a weekday, it must carry, by law, anywhere between sixty to seventy million pounds in cash and coin." He crosses his arms. "On the weekend, anywhere around eighty to ninety million."

"And on Fight Night?" Sophia asks, moving to lean forward. She raises an eyebrow. "Like the night we plan on robbing it?"

They have an idea, of course. They all have their own speculations and guesses. But James is the one with all the research, with all the figures and financial reports, and _his_ number is the closest estimate they're going to get.

"On Fight Night?" James throws back. He smirks and leans back, the picture of confidence.  "A hundred and fifty million, easy."

A hundred and fifty million pounds. Louis has seen money, has been surrounded by piles and piles of it. Hell, his bank account is somewhere in the nine-digit figure. But the thought of a hundred fifty million in one place, accessible, and all theirs for the taking, still gets his heart pumping.

It's a heady thought, the idea of a hundred and fifty million inside a vault, and Louis knows he's not the only one a bit aroused by it. There's a reason why, despite their many arguments, this team works efficiently during heists. They all share a not-so-secret interest in, well, money. A lot of money.

"If we succeed, you'll each get your cuts of course," James says graciously, bring the room's collective attention back to him, "but the rest of the money will go the same way it always does. I'm not going to lie, it's a bit anticlimactic, especially for a high-risk heist like this, but," James shrugs, "I like the challenge. Now, if anyone has any concerns, objections, or violent reactions before we begin, I'd like you to raise them now."

Nobody says anything. Louis simply leans closer to Zayn, lightly pinching his arm, trying to convey his excitement. Really though, Louis is up for anything that gets him _a hundred and fifty million pounds_ at the end of it.

"Alright," James says. He presses another button on his iPhone, and the diagram of the safe comes up once more. "Now, the first thing we need to do is reconnaissance. I want to know everything going on inside those three casinos, from the rotation of the dealers, to the path of the cash carts. I want to know every name of everyone with the security pass, and most importantly, I want you to know the quick routes _out_ of the casinos." He pauses. "Niall?"

"I've got you covered for the Hadid," Niall answers, typing something on his iPhone. "But I need more people for Jenner and Calder."

"Zayn, Louis," James says. He waves a hand at them. "You check out the other two casinos. Report your findings back to me, all three of you."

"Aye-ay, sir," Louis says, saluting at James. "We've got your back, Nialler."

"Just _don't_ fuck up again," James tells him. He's smiling though, which Louis takes as a good sign. "We don't need another person in this house. We haven't got enough food."

"It's because someone forgot to do the shopping," Liam calls, from the other couch.

"Probably for the best, to be honest," Nick replies. "Last time Louis did the shopping, he came home with five hundred packs of instant noodles and lots of beer. Not exactly the best type of groceries."

"Surveillance," James interrupts smoothly, before Louis can start an argument with Nick. "That's the second thing we need to do. The security in those casinos is tight. They've got eyes and ears on everything, so I want eyes and ears on _them_. Nick?"

"Their system isn't the most inaccessible I've seen, but it's close," Nick says. "And they haven't got a closed-circuit I can tap into, do they?"

"None that I know of," James answers.

"Then it's going to have to be a black bag operation," Nick says decisively. "Break into the surveillance systems and attach something to the wire, just so I can get access."

"Is it going to be a problem?" James asks.

"Nope," Nick says. "Just make sure that, one, you're not seen entering into the restricted area and two, that it's attached onto the right wires."

"Good," James replies. "Now we need a replica of the vault. Liam?"

"Mate, as long as I've got the blueprints, I can build it, no problem."

"Sophia?" James asks.

"I need the specifications of the key security features of the vault," she answers, crossing her legs primly on the couch. "as well as the overall security layout of the three casinos."

"I can get that for you," Niall answers. He types out something on his iPhone, probably making notes. "Just give me a couple days."

"But give it to me as soon as you get them," Sophia stresses. "I need to study it as soon as possible. We've only got a month until Fight Night. Which means a month to prepare and to come up with a strategy."

"So we're all in agreement, then?" James asks, causing everyone to turn to look at him. He raises an eyebrow. "I know we've already discussed this, but I want to make sure everyone is on the same page. So, last chance. If you want out, or if you have any concerns, raise them now."

Louis doesn't say anything. Neither do the rest of the team.

"Excellent," James says, after a few moments. He smiles. "We start tomorrow."

. . .

The next three days are a flurry of activity, of studying blueprints and floor plans and security layouts. Louis spends more time in the Jenner casino than he does in their headquarters, pretending to gamble, but also studying the routes of the cash carts. He talks to the security guards as well, gets to know a few of them, takes note of whenever one guard's shift is over and the next one begins. It's a bit taxing, especially since reconnaissance has never been his strong suit—it's Niall's—but he pushes on, turns up the charm and smiles, presses a few buttons to make people trust him. He doesn't like doing it, but, well. He needs to.

He gets to stay in the headquarters on Friday. Liam had complained of needing more manpower in building this vault, so Louis, Zayn and Niall had decided to skip the casino on that day and help him out. The vault is the most important part of the entire heist, and if they end up being unable to practice breaking into it, their entire operation will fail.

He's just coming out of Liam's room, after spending half an hour looking for Liam's 'lucky screwdriver', when he hears voices. A few minutes later, the door to Louis' old room opens and out comes Niall, with Harry immediately behind him.

Oh. Louis had sort of forgotten that he was still here.

"Hey Louis!" Niall calls, waving exaggeratedly. He looks happy, his wide grin taking up probably half his face. Kind of like he just saw something incredibly special.

Louis thinks he should be a bit flattered, should return the joy Niall's giving him. But as it is, he's still very wary of the imprisoned government agent standing beside Niall.

"Uh, hi Niall," he says, waving back. He hides the screwdriver behind his back. "Um, Agent Styles."

"Hello, Louis," Harry answers, his voice light. His green eyes are clear, showing no anger or hostility. "How are you?"

Louis blinks. "Um. Fine, I guess? Uh, you?"

Harry shrugs. "Could be a lot better, if I'm being honest."

 "Okay," Louis answers. "That's, um, okay. I guess."

"Yeah," Harry replies, a hint of a smile on his lips. If Louis squints, he can sort of see his left dimple. It's a bit unnerving.

"What were you doing in Liam's room?" Niall says, oblivious to Louis' inner crisis. He cocks his head curiously. "I thought you were sleeping with Zayn?"

"I am," Louis answers thoughtlessly, before he realizes what he's just said. His eyes dart to Harry, who's completely dropped the slightly happy expression he was wearing—his brows are furrowed, like he's mulling over every single word that was exchanged in this conversation.

Fuck, he looks like he's planning something. He probably _is_ planning something. Like breaking out of his room and escaping headquarters and returning to civilization, ready to rat out everything he discovered in their headquarters. But not before killing Louis' first. After all, it's Louis' fault that he's here, stuck, imprisoned. Now that Harry knows where he sleeps at night, Louis is going to _die_.

Okay, maybe he's being a bit dramatic, but Harry's expression is getting more and more serial killer-ish by the moment and Louis is getting kind of uncomfortable.

He tears his eyes away from Harry's intense expression. "Um," he says, turning back to Niall. "Liam asked me to get something from his room."

"What is it?" Niall asks.

"Uh," Louis shakes the screwdriver behind his back. It's best that Harry doesn't see it. Screwdrivers can be very dangerous. Harry might try to use it as a weapon against them.

"What's that behind your back?" Niall asks, because he's an idiot, and he doesn't _get_ Louis' social cues.

Louis shakes the screwdriver harder.

"Mate, I can't tell what that is if you don't fucking show me," Niall says flatly.

"It's a thing that Liam needs," Louis tries to explain, to no avail.

"Liam needs a lot of things," Niall replies. "Food, water, underwear, clothing, condoms—"

"It's a screwdriver," Harry says, interrupting Niall's enumeration. He flashes Louis a smile, and Louis is momentarily blinded by his left dimple, as deep as how he remembers it to be. "Sorry, I already saw it."

"Oh," Louis says dumbly, because that's all he can say, really. He stops holding the screwdriver up behind his back, instead, letting his arm dangle at his side again.

"Oh!" Niall exclaims. "It's just a screwdriver. Why were you being so secretive?"

Louis wonders if he can get away with beating Niall on the head with the screwdriver.

"Isn't that Liam's lucky screwdriver?" Niall continues. And then he turns to Harry. "Our friend Liam has this thing where he believes that if he screws things with this special pink screwdriver, the longer the object will last. We all sort of think it's bullshit, but we entertain him, usually; sometimes when Louis is mad at him he tells him that he should just screw himself with his screwdriver so that he'd last longer than two minutes—"

"Okay," Louis says loudly, interrupting Niall's rundown about Liam's special screwdriver. "That's, um, quite enough, Niall."

When he chances a glance at Harry, Harry's got his bottom lip bitten between his teeth, like he's trying to stop himself from smiling, and his eyes are bright, sparkling with mirth.

He's laughing, Louis realizes. He's actually fucking laughing.

"What?" Niall asks, trying to stifle his giggles. "It's a funny story."

It is funny, yeah. Normally, Louis would happily let Niall tell the anecdote, interjecting here and there. However, there's the fact that Harry's a government agent, and that he's being held prisoner by Louis. And Niall. And the rest of the team. The less Harry knows of them, of their funny stories, of their anecdotes, the better, really. The safer for everyone involved.

Niall seems to like Harry though. And Niall has always been a really good judge of character.

Louis doesn't know what to make of that.

"Yeah, well, I have to get back before he starts whining about this little thing," he says, waving the screw driver. "So I will see you later, Niall and—" a realization dawns on him, "—uh, what's Agent Styles doing outside his room?"

"Oh," Niall says, as if just realizing that thought as well. "Um, I thought that keeping him contained in your room probably wasn't good for him. So I asked James and he said that I could walk him around the house for a bit, provided that I don't lead him into the rooms with all our secret shit. So, that's what I'm doing." He shrugs, like it's some sort of logical explanation. Which it probably is, in his head.

In Louis' head though, it doesn't make _sense_. But he doesn't know how to voice this, without accidentally insulting Harry, so instead, he nods sagely and says, "I see," like it's a wise idea. Even though it's _not_ a wise idea. It's the stupidest idea ever.

"Knew you'd finally understand, Tommo," Niall says, which, what? If anything, Louis understands _less_.

But Louis really needs to go. Liam's probably already whining about his screwdriver, and the vault _really_ needs to be built.

"Yeah," Louis says, waving a hand. "Yeah, okay, see you later Niall, and uh, Agent Styles."

He doesn't wait for a response from both of them, just brisk walks quickly away from them and back down to the garage.

. . .

He start seeing Harry periodically around the house after that, usually accompanied by Niall. Occasionally, Liam, when he's taking a break from building their replica vault, and it's actually incredibly unnerving, seeing Harry walk around their headquarters completely relaxed, like he's just at a friend's house, and not kidnapped.

And Niall, Liam and Nick were right—he's so quiet and _polite_. Gone is the angry agent from the first night, instead, it seems like he's been replaced by the perfect little poster boy. He greets Louis, every time he sees him, makes small talk whenever he can, and he doesn't kick up a fuss or try to escape at all. Louis can hear him laugh quietly sometimes, especially when Liam and Niall regale him with tales of whatever it is they can think of, and really, this is the _strangest fucking thing_ to ever happen to them.

"We're horrible criminals," Louis laments to Zayn one day, as he watches Harry speaking with Nick and James. Nick's grinning widely, already halfway in love with Harry, and while James looks disinterested, Louis knows him well-enough to see that he's actually really charmed by their hostage.

Of all the government agents in the world, Louis had to go and land the most charming one.

"He's dangerous," Louis continues, still keeping an eye on where Nick, James and Harry are talking. "Just watch. He's actually plotting something. Deep, deep down. He's scheming and he's using his charm to cover up the fact that he's scheming." He pauses. "I'm on to you, Agent Styles. I am fucking _on to you_."

Zayn makes a noise, which Louis takes for agreement.

"And letting him frolic around the house is going to blow up in our faces," Louis says, narrowing his eyes at the small group across the room. "He's going to rat us out, and everyone's going to run to me, apologize, and blubber about me being 'so right, I'm so, so sorry, Louis.'" He rolls his eyes.

"Okay," says Zayn, "You're right. Disregarding that both James and Niall are both amazing judges of character, you are _so_ right."

"They can be wrong too, you know," Louis sniffs. "Especially if the agent is super fucking sneaky. Like a snake. Like fucking Agent Styles." He pauses. "Wait, do _you_ like Agent Styles too?"

"No," says Zayn, but it sounds forced.

"Oh no," Louis says, horrified. "No, no, no, no. Zayn, you _can't_."

"I haven't spoken to the guy, except for that first night," Zayn protests. "And we didn't get along well. I don't like him, Louis."

"But you think he's nice too, don't you," Louis says.

Zayn shrugs. "He could be a lot worse."

Louis sighs, loudly, and puts his head in his hands. "It's official. We are the _worst_ criminals to ever fucking exist."

"Mate," Zayn says, patting Louis' shoulder. "We've been the worst criminals to ever fucking exist ever since we started donating the money we steal."

. . .

Sophia's the last one to speak to Harry, and she's so smart and fierce and takes no shit from anyone, and Louis has such high, high hopes for her. She needs to end up having the same conclusion as Louis does. She _needs_ to.

Of course, his hopes die a horrible death when, just after five minutes of speaking with Harry, Louis hears her high-pitched laughter.

"Fuck, he's even got _Sophia_ in his evil clutches," Louis wails to Zayn. "He's managed to steal Sophia, what the fuck. Sophia, my one true love. The _one_ girl I want to marry."

"Louis, you're a gay man."

"Am I not allowed to marry her because of that?" Louis grumbles angrily. He sighs. "No, but this is bad. This is really bad. This is like some sort of, reverse Stockholm Syndrome. Is there a psychological term for that?"

"I don't think this is reverse Stockholm Syndrome," Zayn says diplomatically.

Louis gestures wearily at Sophia and Harry. "Look at them! This _is_ reverse Stockholm Syndrome, I am telling you right now, Zayn. It's a 'Styles Syndrome'."

"The only person who has 'Styles Syndrome' is you," Zayn mutters, loud enough for Louis to hear. "You're the only one who cares about what he does."

Louis pretends not to hear him. " _Why_ are they so in love with him?"

"They're not in love with him," Zayn answers. "They just think he's nice."

"They're up his arse, more like," Louis replies. He narrows his at where Harry and Sophia are still talking. "Shame, he's got such a tiny arse, too. They can't _all_ possibly fit."

. . .

"Hey," Liam says, two plates of food in his hand. He kicks at the leg of Louis' chair. "Come with me."

Louis scowls. He knows where they're going and what they're going to do, and Louis does _not_ want to be a part of it. Nope.

"Louis," Liam says. He kicks at the leg of Louis' chair harder, enough that Louis' chair moves a bit.

Louis grits his teeth. "I'm busy, Liam."

"You're not," Liam counters.

"I have to memorize this floor plan," Louis answers, a bit angrily.

Liam takes a peek at it. "That's....the Jenner casino floor plan," Liam says, reading it over. "You're telling me, you've been to the Jenner casino almost every day for the past week, and you _still_ don't have the floor plan memorized?"

"Not the restricted areas," Louis tells Liam haughtily. "Plus, it doesn't hurt to be prepared."

Liam kicks the leg of his chair again. Really, if he doesn't stop bothering Louis, Louis is going to break the plate in his hand over his bald head of hair.

"Louis," Liam says. "Just come eat with us."

"I'm fine here," Louis says stubbornly. "Eating on the _dining table_ because that's where people should _eat_. On the dining table."

"Louis," Liam says again, and his tone is gentle, gentle enough that all the fight in Louis escapes. "Please. Come eat with us."

Louis stares stormily at the table top.

"Zayn's already upstairs...?" Liam says.

"That traitor," Louis mutters, but he sighs and stands from the table, picking up his still-full plate. "Fine.'

Liam leads him out the dining area and up the stairs, and down the hall to Louis' room. He inputs the code quickly, and then the door's swinging open, greeting Louis with the sight of Harry, Niall and Zayn, sprawled out on the floor of Louis' room, with two full plates of food on the floor.

"—and then a cheeseburger came flying, out of literally nowhere," Niall is in the middle of saying. "Literally, all Louis did was shout, 'I want a fucking cheeseburger', and I swear to God, it just flew out." He pauses. "Magical Tommo powers."

Okay, Louis' a bit flattered that Niall's talking about his supposed magical powers, but why does he have to tell Harry, of all people? They shouldn't be developing a connection with him. They should be distancing themselves as far away as possible from him.

"Did he catch it?" Harry asks.

"No," Louis answers for Niall, and all three of their heads whip up to look at him. "Bounced on my fucking head then fell on the floor. What a waste."

"Tommo!" Niall cheers, pumping his two fists in the air. "You've joined us!"

Louis inclines his head toward Liam. " _This_ one is annoying and won't let me do my work."

"You weren't doing any work anyway," Liam answers dismissively, which, _rude_. Louis would elaborate on all the hard work he was doing if Harry wasn't here to overhear everything.

"Is that for me?" Niall asks, looking at the second plate of food in Liam's hand. "Aww, Liam, you didn't have to! I love you Liam, you're the best."

Liam rolls his eyes. "It's for Harry, you tosser."

He passes the plate to Harry, who accepts it with a smile—Louis resolutely does _not_ look at his left dimple—before sitting down on the seat beside Niall.

Louis resigns himself to his fate and moves to sit down in their little circle, right beside Zayn. Zayn adjusts, enough so that he can throw an arm around Louis' waist.

Louis leans his head on Zayn's shoulder. "Zaynie, you're a traitor."

"I know," Zayn says resignedly, like he was expecting it.

Louis sighs.

From across the circle, he can see Harry making that furrowed brow face again, still looking very mad and serial killer-ish. He's looking straight at Louis, and Louis resigns himself to the fact that he's probably going to die, right now.

Oh well. At least Zayn will bear witness to his death. If Harry doesn't end up killing him right after, that is.

Zayn pats him on the head, a signal for him to get his head off his shoulder, and Louis sighs, but dutifully straightens up. He places his plate on the floor, uses his fork to spear a piece of carrot from his plate, and passes it over to Zayn.

Zayn accepts it without a word.

"You don't like carrots?" He hears Harry ask, and he looks up to find Harry staring straight at him. The serial killer expression is gone, replaced by a curiosity that seems genuine.

"Um."

Niall snickers. "Nah," he says, answering Louis' question for him. "Louis loves carrots."

"Oh," says Harry, a bit shocked. "So why did he—"

Niall starts laughing even harder. Louis scowls and picks up a piece of carrot from his plate.

"Shut up," he says, throwing it at Niall. It bounces off his forehead.

"Oi," Liam chastises. He's smiling though, which means he's finding this entire thing amusing. "Louis, don't waste the food."

Louis rolls his eyes. Niall's still laughing beside Harry, and Harry's face is a mixture of confused and endeared.

Louis sighs. "They're teasing me," he tells Harry. "I _hate_ carrots." He really shouldn't be offering pieces of information about himself to Harry, yet here he is. If Harry kills everyone in this room today, at least he knows that he killed a person with likes and dislikes.

...Alright, so it's becoming more and more unlikely that Harry will kill them all right now, since there are four of them and one of him. Still, it doesn't hurt to be _prepared_.

"Oh," Harry blinks. "Okay."

"It's cause around two years ago," Zayn starts monotonously, causing Liam to perk up from where he's seated. Louis knows Liam loves this story, loves lording it over Louis whenever he can, and just that thought makes Louis pick up another piece of carrot and hurl it at Liam's abnormally large forehead.

Liam just bats it away easily. Louis hates Liam so much.

"Louis was on this job, right," Zayn continues. "He was trying to steal from this really prominent family. So he was all dressed up to the nines, his hair nicely quiffed, freshly shaved. He looked like a million pounds."

"Hilariously enough," Liam takes over for Zayn, like some sort of story-telling tag team, "the heiress, Hannah, I think was her name, had no gaydar whatsoever. None. So she was quite smitten with Louis, wasn't she, Zayn?"

Zayn cracks a smile. "Tripping over her heels for him, mate. And Louis, who _really_ did not like the attention, told her that he only liked 'girls who ate carrots'."

At this pronouncement, Niall starts cackling loudly. Even Liam laughs a bit at the memory.

Louis hates them all.

" _Oh_ ," Harry says. Louis can feel Harry looking at him, but he doesn't look up at him, instead choosing to focus on his plate of food. His friends _really_ shouldn't be telling embarrassing stories about him in front of their prisoner. Louis is pretty sure there has never been a kidnapping situation where the kidnappers embarrass the other kidnapper in front of the kidnappee.

This just reinforces that they are the _worst_ criminals to ever exist.

"Yeah," says Zayn, obviously trying not to giggle. "So, everyday, whenever he went to the hotel, Hannah would be there, with a plate of carrots for them to share. That lasted for about, two weeks, I think?"

Louis shudders at the memory. "They weren't even nicely cooked carrots," he complains darkly. "They were just...fucking boiled. Like, what the fuck."

"You ate them all, though," Zayn teases, the small smile still on his face. 

"Well, I was stealing her family's fortune, wasn't I?" Louis defends. "Might as well be decent."

"Yeah," Zayn answers, "because you're a decent human being through and through."

"Oi," Louis crosses his arms. "I'm decent enough."

"Yeah, yeah," Zayn says, waving a careless hand, before leaning over to pick another piece of carrot of Louis' plate.

From his peripheral vision, he can see Harry's face change into that serial killer expression again.

Really, he has to stop. It's getting really creepy. Especially since he's seated in the floor right across Louis. Which reminds him.

"So," Louis says loudly, calling the attention of everyone in the room to him. "Why are we eating here on the floor of Agent Styles' room, when we could've instead brought him down and ate at the dining table like civilized people?"

Niall shrugs. "The carpet is comfortable?"

"Do you know what's more comfortable than this carpet?" Louis asks sweetly. "A chair in the dining room. My arse is hurting."

Niall rolls his eyes. "Don't be a baby, Tommo. Your arse has more than enough cushioning to make sitting on the floor comfortable."

"Yeah, Louis," Liam throws in. "You've got buns, hun."

"Okay," Louis says, "One, Liam, _never_ quote _Anaconda_ again. Never in the near future, never in the next few years, never in your entire life, and any time after that. And two, both of you are severely overestimating the size of my arse."

"But mate, your arse is huge," Liam says, because he has a death wish, apparently.

"It _is_ kind of huge," Harry puts in, and immediately, Louis' attention is diverted from Liam to Harry, who's not smiling, but has got an innocent expression on his face.

Louis narrows his eyes playfully. "You don't get to have a say in this."

Harry shrugs, still looking like an absolute angel. Louis kind of wants to throw something at him. "Sorry," he says, not-so-apologetically. "Just calling it like I see it." His hand twitches on his lap, and Louis is painfully reminded that he does, actually, have a gauge on how big Louis' arse is, and that he held it in his hand, once, and God, how could Louis forget, even for a moment? This man is a _government agent_.

"Yeah well," Louis says, tersely, enough that the other boys' heads whip around to look at him, sensing that there's something wrong. "Don't."

Immediately, Harry's playful expression falls. Louis looks away from him, focusing, again on his plate of food. He picks up his fork and starts eating, refusing to meet the eye of any of the people in the room.

It's quiet, for a bit.

"Does anyone have any other funny stories to share?" Niall asks.

. . .

Apparently eating meals with Harry becomes a regular thing for them. Louis doesn't join them again after that first lunch.

It's a smart move, he tells himself, even as he eats alone at their tiny dining table. It'd do well to have someone wary of Harry's charm, someone not as taken with him as the rest of their team apparently is. That way he'll be able to spot any suspicious activity of Harry's, be able to view things from an objective lens. He'll be ready when Harry reveals himself to be the snake that he truly is.

Because, see, Louis knows Harry. Has encountered this before. Knows how easy it is to fall into his charm, to revel in his attention. Knows that he has this way of making people feel like they're the most special thing in the entire universe.

Yeah, well, Louis' not going to fall for it now.

. . .

It's two days later when suddenly, Louis finds himself joined by his friends for lunch. Again.

Including Harry, of course, because he and Niall seem to be joined at the hip now. Louis hasn't ever seen Niall without Harry trailing behind him, with the exception of when Niall's helping Liam out with building the vault or when he's off to gather some information at the casino.

"You were right, Tommo," Niall says, when he drops down on his usual seat, as if he was never gone in the first place. Harry slides in beside him, taking Liam's usual seat, and Liam ends  up on the seat next to him.

Louis blinks at the sudden chaos on the dining table. He had sort of gotten used to eating alone. "About what?"

"The floor being hard," Zayn clarifies, sitting on his usual seat beside Louis. He pushes his plate toward Louis, and Louis automatically spears one piece of Zayn's broccoli from his plate. "Apparently our arses don't have built-in cushioning like yours does."

Louis flips Zayn off.

"So we're eating here, with you," Liam continues, picking up from where Zayn left off. "Besides, we kind of missed you anyway, Lou. There was no one being snarky during lunch time."

"Hey," Louis protests. "I'm not snarky. I'm an angel." He bats his eyelashes at Liam for emphasis.

Liam snorts. "Right."

"Well, anyway, we're back to eating here," Niall says, taking a bite out of his food for emphasis. He raises an eyebrow at Louis, as if daring him to protest. Louis just rolls his eyes.

They fall silent after that, focusing on their food. Louis tries not to pay attention to Harry, who's sat right across from him, _again_. Tries not to pay attention to the way Harry eats his food, to the way his tongue sticks out, before he puts it in his mouth, like he's trying to catch the tiny crumbs of it with his tongue.

Louis lasts all of five minutes.

"Mate, you're so fucking _obscene_ ," he says, before he can stop himself.

Harry's eyes dart up to look at him. "Um?" He asks.

Louis rolls his eyes and gestures at him. "The way you're eating!" He says exasperatedly. "Like, you stick your tongue out before you put your food in your mouth. It's really distracting and really fucking obscene."

Beside him, Zayn snorts. He doesn't say anything, though.

"Um?" Harry asks again, blinking strangely at him. Louis kind of wants to lean over the table and slap him. "That's how I eat? I didn't think you'd notice?"

"Yeah, well," Louis snarks. "It's kind of hard not to notice when you're waving that long thing in my face. Really, it's like you're a lizard or something."

The corner of Harry's lip twitches up. "A lizard?"

"Don't tell me you don't know what a lizard is," Louis answers, fighting the urge to roll his eyes again. He can hear Niall laughing into his food, already. If he doesn't stop, he's probably going to choke. "It's a reptile with a long tongue." He pauses and cocks his head. "You look like a reptile, actually."

Harry's left dimple makes an appearance. "A reptile?"

"Are you just repeating the things I'm saying to be a little shit?" Louis asks, irritated. He narrows his eyes at Harry. "Is it 'echo day' or summat?"

Harry leans forward, placing his elbows on the table, before resting his chin in his hands. His eyes are bright, happy, and for a moment, he looks just like that sweet boy from three years ago, the one that had Louis falling all over him.

His expression though, morphs into one of cheekiness, and Louis knows what he's going to say, even before he says it.

"Echo day?" Harry asks as innocently as possible, which sends Niall laughing harder. Liam's laughing too, his eyes crinkling up in delight.

"You're teasing me," Louis complains. He kicks at Zayn's foot under the table. "Zaynie, he's teasing me. Defend me."

"Stop teasing Louis," Zayn says, sounding as bored as ever. Louis hates him so, so much.

Harry's still got the cheeky expression on his face, a full grin threatening to break out now. He's actually enjoying this, Louis realizes, enjoying teasing Louis like they've been friends for years.

Louis doesn't know what that means.

He does know what to do, which is to tease back, so he mirrors Harry's position, and bats his eyelashes. "Really though," he says, as saccharine as possible, "you should really learn to put your tongue back in your mouth when you eat, so you don't look like you're about to dive tongue-first into someone's arse."

Niall starts choking on his food. Liam reaches over Harry to pat him on the back, his face red either from laughing or embarrassment, Louis can't tell.

Serves him right though. It's all Liam's fault. Everything is Liam's fault.

Harry laughs as well, a warm, delighted sound, and it sounds so funny that it makes Louis actually break out into a grin. A tiny one, because he refuses to give Harry the satisfaction of hearing his laugh, but a grin, nonetheless.

However, his reaction is enough to make Harry smile wider, his shallower dimple on his right cheek making an appearance.

"Isn't the way to eat arse the proper way to eat everything?" He asks sweetly, and Louis is torn between being helplessly endeared and smacking him in the face.

"Not in pleasant company," Louis replies, mimicking Harry's tone.

"Can you be considered pleasant company, though?"

"Oh, please," Louis sniffs haughtily. "I'm the most pleasant company you'll ever have in your entire life. Now be a good chap, sit up straight, hold your fork properly—that's it, there's a good lad—and eat like you're in front of the bloody Queen."

Harry spears a piece of broccoli with his fork, moving it towards his mouth. His tongue doesn't come out to receive it, which is a huge improvement—now he can spend less time getting distracted by Agent Styles' frankly long and obscene tongue and focus on actually eating his lunch.

Shit, _Agent Styles_. For some reason Louis is having  a hard time remembering that this man is basically here because they've essentially kept him here against his will, and that his true goal is to send Louis and his team to prison.

Louis fully places the blame on Harry. He's so fucking charming. It's so easy to see why the others are already so smitten with him.

Harry flutters his eyelashes at him, chewing the broccoli slowly. "Better?" He asks.

"Much," Louis says approvingly, "except we don't talk with our mouths full in pleasant company."

Before Harry can reply, Sophia enters the kitchen, quickly walking to where they're seated on their dining table. She looks completely put together, her make-up neat and her hair falling in nice waves past her shoulders, but Louis can see in her eyes that she's worried.

"Boys," she greets. Her eyes fall on Harry. "And Harry."

Harry shrugs. "I'm a boy too."

Sophia waves his pronouncement away with a well-manicured hand. "Liam," she says, her eyes quickly zeroing onto him, "are you busy? I kind of _really_ need your help."

Liam still has three-quarters of his food left but he's pushing it away and standing, ready to do whatever Sophia asks of him. "What's up? What's wrong?"

Sophia's eyes quickly dart toward Harry. "Not here," she says, and Louis is thankful that despite her fondness for Harry, she still has the presence of mind not to discuss their plans in front of him. "It's by the workshop."

"Show me," Liam says, and then Sophia is speed-walking away from the dining table, with Liam hot on her heels.

"I want to see," Niall declares quickly, pushing away his half-full plate of food, and standing up to go follow Sophia and Liam. Louis gapes at his figure, because Niall _never_ leaves his food unfinished. Louis has known him for five years and not once did Niall ever have anything but a plate practically licked clean.

There's a silence.

It's when Zayn breaks the silence, pushing his chair away from the table, does Louis realize what this means.

"Don't you dare," he hisses to Zayn, but Zayn just gives him a questioning look.

"Stay here with Harry," he tells Louis, before he's quickly exiting the dining area as well. Louis gives his retreating back a scathing look, but Zayn doesn't see it.

Well, _fuck_.

Sadly, it's not like Louis can just leave Harry and follow his friends. Harry's their fucking _prisoner_. If Louis leaves him, there's no doubt that Harry would escape, just stand up and walk straight out their front door and into the nearest police station. And then they'd be fucked.

However, this is exactly what he's been trying to _avoid_ , these past few days. It's one thing to pass by Harry in the corridors of their headquarters, with someone acting as a buffer in between them should they ever start a conversation, but it's another thing to be left alone with him. With Harry, who's charming as can be and can easily wrap anyone around his little finger, Louis included.

Oh, plus there's the entire shared past thing. Which isn't really that dramatic, but. Louis would much rather not like to remember.

Before he can formulate a plan to get himself out of this situation, Harry clears his throat.

"Louis," he says.

This cannot be good. "Don't," Louis says, trying not to let his inner panic show on his voice. He shouldn't even _be_ panicked. He's robbed high security vaults and broke into locks in record time, being left alone with a government agent shouldn't make him this nervous.

Harry doesn't listen to him though. Louis can see him thinking, can see him trying to put together the words to formulate a sentence.

"I'm, uh, sorry," is what Harry says, after a few minutes.

Louis' brow furrows. "What?"

"For the other day," Harry clarifies, his eyes earnest. "The, uh, arse thing."

Oh. _Oh_. That. Honestly, Louis hardly even remembers it. The team likes to make quips about his arse, and Louis just rolls with it, most of the time.

"I just thought that, you know, judging by the way you reacted, you were bit insulted," Harry continues, oblivious to Louis' thought process. "Like, I get if you think I was a bit out of line, or that I was making fun of it, or whatever, but I just wanted to apologize." The left corner of his lip quirks up. "Really, that's kind of why we ate here today. I, uh, might've told Niall I felt a bit guilty for making you lash out."

The arse thing was not the reason Louis lashed out, but he lets Harry keep talking.

"And yeah," Harry rambles on, still looking earnest. "That wasn't like, an insult against your arse, I have nothing against your arse honestly, it's actually really lovely—"

Okay, Louis has to stop him there.

He sighs. "It's fine, Harry," he says, waving a hand. "It didn't really bother me in the first place, so. It's all good."

The corners of Harry's lips turn up again, making him look relieved, and really, who is he, even? What kind of kidnapped government agent feels that bad about making jokes about his kidnappers' bum that he has to go down and actually fucking _apologize_ , in person?

Harry's really something, isn't he?

Louis watches as Harry's smile drops, all of a sudden, his brow furrowing like he's just remembered something. He doesn't look away from Louis.

"Also, um," he says, looking unsure of himself. He fidgets on his seat, like he's uncomfortable with the attention Louis' giving him. "For the thing that happened, um, three years ago."

Immediately, Louis feels like the ground's disappeared from beneath his feet. He thought he was prepared, was well-equipped to deal with it should Harry want to talk about it, but, apparently it wasn't enough.

"You remember?" Louis blurts, trying to keep his breathing calm. He really shouldn't panic in front of a government agent like this. He has a cool, level head on his shoulders, it's best he equip it.

Harry shrugs, looking down at the table top. "I wouldn't just forget that," he points out. His hand twitches on the table top, as if remembering how it felt to touch, to hold, to run his hand down Louis' skin.

Louis takes a deep breath.

"It was years ago," Louis says, trying to deflect. He levels Harry with a stare."It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me," Harry counters. He takes a deep breath, obviously calming himself down. "I betrayed your trust, and I'm sorry."

"You really don't need to apologize."

"I do. I'm sorry."

"Please stop apologizing now."

"Not until you accept my apology."

The thing is, he doesn't want to. Accepting Harry's apology means having to remember what happened, having to deal with how fucking stupid he was, how he almost put his entire team's lives on the line, because of that one moment. Accepting Harry's apology means having to remember that one time he wasn't in control, that one time he let himself be spontaneous, and almost having everything go to shit.

And he doesn't want to remember. Doesn't want to sit down and dredge up memories and remember how each moment felt. He's already doing that without even trying.

But Louis doesn't say any of this to Harry. Instead, he rolls his eyes. "How about this," he says, his voice as authoritative as he can. He crosses his arms and sits up straight, trying to look intimidating. "Let's just agree to disagree, and never speak of it again."

"That's not going to solve anything," Harry replies.

"If you ignore something long enough, it'll go away," Louis tells him.

"I don't think it works like that."

"Shhh."

Harry breaks out in a tiny grin, before biting his bottom lip, trying to stop himself. Louis knows he's still smiling, though. The dimple is out. And the dimple never lies.

"So we're not speaking of it," Louis says. He raises an eyebrow. "Not now, not ever. Okay?"

There's a pause where it looks like Harry's about to protest, about to open his mouth and apologize one more time. Louis gives him his most intimidating glare, the one that actually sends Liam cowering. To be fair, any glare Louis gives Liam sends him cowering, but he likes to think there are levels based on how fast he runs away.

Harry, however, doesn't seem affected. He does shrug and say, "fine", which Louis is counting as a win.

. . .

"It's random," Sophia starts conversationally, at their next group meeting. She's impeccably dressed, as always, looking like she's belongs in an office in a skyscraper, instead of the house that serves as their headquarters. "The code is random."

"What do you mean?" James asks, leaning forward to peek at the blueprint she has spread out on the table. "What's random?"

Sophia shrugs. "According to this, there's a random number generator built in the Leviathan, apparently," she says, pointing a well-manicured finger at one of the things written there. "Spits out a new ten-digit number every two minutes."

Louis leans forward as well, to study the lines of the blueprint. "Every two minutes?" He asks, his brow furrowed as he reads through the fine print. "That's...new."

He's never encountered a casino vault that spits out a new code to the door every _two_ minutes. Every six hours, sure, like the Thirlwall's vault, but every two minutes?

And it's _random_ too, which means it's a bit impossible to predict the next sequence of numbers. The security for this one is going to be tight.

But he supposes, it's one of the biggest casino vaults in the world. He supposes it warrants some security.

"Would it be possible to find the code within two minutes?" Louis asks, directing his question at Nick. "Would you be able to work that fast?"

Nick sighs, which Louis doesn't take as a good sign. "Mate, I'm good, but I'm no miracle worker. Plus, taking into consideration the processing time of the software currently available to us, and the security make-up of the vault, the quickest I can give you is about three minutes."

"That's not quick enough," Louis complains, still looking at the blue print. "Are you sure you can't hack any faster?"

Nick huffs. "Why don't you try it if you think it's so easy?"

"There has to be something," James finally speaks up. His hands are clasped underneath his chin, his eyes clouded over in thought. "A key programmed for that. They're going to need regular access to the safe during Fight Night."

"Well, there's a key fob," Sophia admits.

"Perfect," Louis says. "We can swipe it."

"Can we really?" Sophia asks, skeptical. "Because it's the key to almost a hundred million pounds. It's bound to be heavily guarded. Also, we have no idea where it is, or who it's with. For all we know it's currently sitting in a safe-deposit box in Switzerland."

"But they need daily access to the safe," Louis argues. "It has to be nearby."

"Nearby, yes, but, easy to steal?" Sophia shakes her head. "I don't think so."

"I didn't say it was going to be _easy_ ," Louis shoots back, crossing his arms. "There's obviously going to be a lot of security surrounding that key. But it's not like that's ever stopped us from stealing, has it?"

"Forget security for a moment," James interrupts, looking at Louis. "Because that concern obviously comes later. Our first concern has to be actually finding it."

"It's nearby," Louis reiterates, meeting James' eye. "I'm sure if we look around a bit more, we'll find it."

. . .

Apparently it's much easier said than done.

Looking around is easy, snooping less so, but none of them find any sign of the master key even existing. Even Niall, who has more significant access to the restricted areas of the casino, doesn't find anything.

"Security is incredibly strict," he complains, at one time. "Besides, I have no idea what I'm looking for. Cause I have no idea what it _looks_ like."

Which, yeah, _that_ might be a tiny flaw in their plan.

Still, they continue looking, taking note of every little thing that could possibly be a lead. It's incredibly exhausting, searching, finding nothing, that even _Niall_ becomes a bit stroppy.

Harry, too, seems to have gotten a bit pouty—he's no less charming as ever, but Louis can see that he's got something on his mind, can see that his smile is a bit dimmer compared to the week before. He's still properly behaved, though, and Niall and the others still let him take walks around the house, but he talks less. Which, if Louis is being honest, is really what it's supposed to be like. Harry's been kidnapped. That's what normal kidnapped people do.

But then Harry's not exactly a normal kidnapped person, is he?

"Alright," Louis nudges Harry's foot underneath the table, somewhat harshly. He got stuck with babysitting duty again (which is what he's taken to calling it), and Harry is pouting down at his food, looking like it had personally offended him.

Which Louis is taking personal offense to. He was the one who persuaded Liam to order Chinese take-out.

"What's up with you?" He asks, when Harry still doesn't respond. Not that Louis is curious about what's on Harry's mind, it's just that, he's so unnecessarily _distracting_. It's as if all the most distracting atoms of the universe joined up and created one Agent Harry Styles.

Harry sighs, (distractingly, Louis might add, nobody sighs like that), before looking at Louis. "It's nothing."

Now, see, that was unnecessary. Why the fuck would he sigh like that if it was nothing?

Louis nudges him again. And again.

"It's really nothing," Harry says, even though Louis doesn't say anything. "It's just, I really want you to let me go, now."

Louis freezes, right in the middle of another leg nudge. His eyes dart around, mentally cataloguing the things around him that Harry could use in a fight. The fork. The plate. The glass.

Fuck, why does he keep forgetting that Harry is a _trained_ government agent?

(Maybe it's because he doesn't act like one.)

Louis could take him, for sure. Harry's a bit bigger than him, and a bit broader as well, but Louis fights dirty, fights with teeth and nails and below-the-belt manoeuvres. And on the off chance that Harry manages to beat him, to knock him down, Liam can take him. And Zayn. And Niall. And James. And Nick. And even Sophia, who kickboxes like a fucking pro.

Yeah. Harry's not going to get out of this house easily.

"It's kind of stupid," Harry continues. His hands are still on the table, but they could spring into action at any moment. Louis takes note of the exit routes, considers how he's going to block them, whichever way Harry chooses to escape. There's the door that leads to the basement, and the doorway that leads to the sitting room.

"It's just that, I sort of miss my cat?"

What.

Louis blinks at Harry's hands, before looking up and blinking at him. "What?"

"Yeah," Harry shrugs, unperturbed, before scratching the back of his head. "My cat."

"Your cat." Louis says flatly.

Harry nods slowly. "My cat," he says, as if Louis didn't get it the first or the second time. "Her name's Dusty."

"Dusty."

"She's black and white," Harry says, like Louis even fucking cares. "Anyway, I put out a lot of food for her, before, you know, and it's been a week. I bet she's hungry. Or, actually, I don't even know if she's still alive."

He sighs, looking sadly at his food again. "I hope she's not dead, but, well, you never really know, do you? Maybe she died of starvation. Or dehydration. It's been more than a week."

Louis stares at him, trying to wrap his head around Harry's words. He has a cat. A cat whom he misses. A cat he loves very much, going by the way he seems to talk about it. Her.

Harry smiles ruefully, shaking his head. "Really, it's nothing. I told you it was stupid."

At this, Louis can't help but bang his fist on the table. "What the fuck," he says loudly, enough that Harry's head whips up to look at him, his eyes wide.

"You're kidnapped," Louis exclaims maniacally. He's sure he looks insane, but he just doesn't understand.

Harry nods, once. "I am," he says, but it sounds like a question.

"You're kidnapped," Louis repeats, "and really, any normal kidnapped person would worry about other things, like trying to escape, or, or remembering every miniscule detail about their kidnappers."

"What makes you think I'm not doing that?" Harry interrupts, but Louis ignores him.

"They worry about other things," Louis continues, "and here you are, worrying about your bloody _cat_."

"Would you rather I worry about escaping, instead?" Harry asks. "Because I can."

Louis throws his hands up. "No," he says, "but you're so fucking _strange_ , Styles. Anyone else in the world would be trying to devise an escape plan. They'd be giving their kidnappers a hard time, making a lot of noise and shouting. But you, you're _nice_ and you're well-behaved and you're fucking charming and you worry about your _cat_." He shakes his head. "I just don't _understand_."

"I've thought about it," Harry says suddenly, lowly, enough that it makes Louis stop. "Thought about making a break for the front door, every time I'm in the sitting room. Thought about grabbing something, a pen, a utensil, anything, and grabbing one of you for leverage. Maybe Niall." He looks up and his green eyes are dark, calculating. "Maybe you. I could grab you now, hold this fork against your throat, and demand to be let go this instant."

Louis swallows slowly.

"I've thought about screaming, making a fuss, of fighting back whenever you bring me back to my room," he continues.

Louis' hands are at fists on the table. "Then why don't you?"

Harry shrugs. "And then what would I do? I'm outnumbered, easily." Louis watches as he picks up his fork, spearing a piece of Kung Pao chicken. "And you'd end up putting me in the cupboard again. I'm not a fan of the cupboard."

He places the chicken in his mouth and chews, his jaw working. "I'm also not a fan of unnecessary risks and violence," he says. "If I'm going to venture at an escape plan, it has to be well thought-out. Besides, you've been nothing but nice to me. Well, except the kidnapping part, but."

"But...?"

"You're decent people," Harry answers, still casually eating like he's talking about the weather. Louis is incredibly unnerved. "You view yourself like you're a bad person, like you've committed so many errors and deserve nothing but the worst."

"Isn't that how _you_ view me?" Louis asks. "View us? You work for the government, after all. You uphold the law."

"Well, it was," Harry admits. "Until I found out your team donates most of the money you get to different charities all over the country."

Louis draws in a sharp breath. "How'd you know that?"

"Niall," Harry answers easily. "He told me on the first night, I think, when I mistakenly assumed that your team simply used the money to fuel a lavish lifestyle."

Louis makes a mental note to berate Niall. He shouldn't be sharing team secrets like that.

"He also told me that you each chose two charities to donate to," Harry adds. He pauses, looks down to spear another piece of chicken and pops it into his mouth. "Like a real life Robin Hood. Like I said, decent people."

Louis shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He doesn't know what to make of that, of the fact that Harry knowing about their cause. He also doesn't know what to make of the fact that Harry seemingly _approves_ of what they do, enough to not kick up a fuss and derail their plan.

Because that's what Louis is getting from this conversation. Harry, a government agent, hired to enforce the law, is being well-behaved, because one: the people who kidnapped him are, according to him, decent people, and two: he actually sort of agrees with what they're doing.

Fuck, does Harry have Stockholm Syndrome? Isn't that sort of the definition of Stockholm Syndrome?

If Harry has Stockholm Syndrome, they're sort of fucked, aren't they?

But before he can open his mouth to say something to that extent, Harry looks up at him, and his eyes are light, unbothered. "So," he says pleasantly. "My cat, Dusty."

. . .

Later, after he's put Harry back in his room, he climbs the ladder up the attic, where Nick is, as always, working on  something on his computer.  Louis waits until Nick is finished typing, before rapping two knuckles at the wall. "Grimshaw."

Nick doesn't turn to look at him. "Yes, Tomlinson?"

Louis clears his throat. "I need a favour."

"What is it?"

"Could you maybe find someone's address for me?" Louis hopes his voice doesn't sound as unsure as he feels.

Nick sighs. "Whose address?"

"Uh," Louis says, "Agent Harry Styles?"

There's a pause, and then Nick is whirling around in his spinning chair, arms crossed and one eyebrow quirked. "Agent Harry Styles," he says, and his voice is amused, close to laughter. It makes Louis scowl. "Now what do you want to do with Agent Harry Styles' address?"

Louis shrugs, still scowling. "Just, you know, wanted to check that nobody's looking for him, or whatever."

If possible, Nick's eyebrow climbs even higher. "Well," he says, "nobody's looking for him, because I emailed his boss, saying that he had an important family thing to attend to and needed a few sick days, one which his boss was all too happy to give him. Apparently he's a model agent, or something. _And_ , I emailed his mum and his sister, telling them that he'd be swamped with work, so it'd be much appreciated if they didn't call for the next month or so."

Louis blinks at him. "Oh," he says, dumbfounded. "I see."

Nick snickers, before turning to pull up another window on his computer. "Come on, then," he says, his voice infused with laughter. "I've had Harry's personal information since a week ago, you can have a look."

Louis makes his way beside Nick, crouching down to read and memorize Harry's address.

"You know," Nick murmurs, while Louis is doing this. "Harry is kind of...exactly your type, isn't he?"

"Fuck off, Grimshaw," Louis says, before pressing a kiss on Nick's head in thanks and leaving the attic.

. . .

Dusty looks dirty, starved, but alive when Louis breaks into Harry's apartment. She spends half an hour hissing at Louis and hiding behind Harry's couch, only coming out to hiss at Louis again. She eventually warms up to him, though, when she realizes that Louis' no threat, and is simply there to refill her food bowl and give her some water.

Louis takes a few photos of her eating, a few of her drinking, and a few of her lying down on her back, evidently full. He cleans her as well; he brushes her fur and gives her a quick towel bath, as per the instructions on Wikihow. When he's done she looks clean, happy, and healthy, and she won't stop purring, winding around Louis' feet.

He takes a few more photos (and a selfie), refills her food and her water, and leaves, locking the door behind him.

And maybe it was kind of dumb, going over to Harry's place to feed his cat, but Louis can't bring himself to regret it, especially when he shows Harry the photos of Dusty and Harry lights up like a Christmas tree. He spends an obscene amount of time staring at Louis' phone, cooing and swiping through the ten photos Louis took of her.

"Thank you," he tells Louis, his eyes bright with happiness. Louis' phone is open to the selfie of him and Dusty, Dusty looking confused, and Louis making a funny face. "Thank you, Louis."

It makes something burst in Louis' chest, makes it feel as if a seed has taken root, but he refuses to acknowledge it; instead, he shoots Harry a small smile, one that Harry returns easily.

. . .

Things are a lot less strained between them, after that.

Louis finds it much easier to shoot Harry a smile when he sees him walking around the house, find that he doesn't mind it as much when Harry smiles back. He also finds himself talking to Harry a lot more, exchanging greetings and sometimes even a few jokes and quips, to the point that it's almost friendly. Not as friendly as, well, what Niall and Harry have, or even Harry and Liam, but friendly enough.

And maybe being even a little bit friendly with a person you're holding against their will isn't exactly a smart thing to do, but whatever. Louis has accepted that they're horrible criminals. Skillful thieves, but horrible, horrible criminals.


	2. Chapter 2

There's _singing_.

 It's not exactly uncommon for there to be singing, in their headquarters—Louis likes to sing every once in a while, and Liam and Niall are prone to bursting into song at random times of the day. Nick sings, off-key, when he's coding, and even Sophia can be heard humming under her breath when she's got a song stuck in her head.

It's just that this singing is different because it's _Harry_ singing. And it's, well, distracting. As distracting as the rest of him is.

Louis hears it clearly; although Harry isn't exactly belting at the top of his lungs, he isn't quiet either. His voice is low, a mix between raspy and smooth, and Louis can hear it through the walls of their house.

He can also hear that he is in the middle of singing some Adele.

Harry changes his song after a bit, starting a Christina Aguilera song, one that makes Louis smile a bit, before transitioning into a Mariah Carey song. It's only when he starts a few bars of something by Whitney Houston does Louis decide to intervene.

"Having a concert?" He asks, after he's keyed in the code and let himself into the room. He makes sure to lock the door behind him, before leaning against it.

Harry doesn't even move from where he's lying on the bed. "Practicing for my album, I think."

"Ah." Louis crosses his arms. "I didn't know you had musical aspirations."

"I'm pretty sure everyone, at least once in their life, had musical aspirations," Harry dismisses. He pushes himself up on his elbows, before shifting so that his back is resting against the headboard. He gestures at the space on the foot of the bed. "I'm not exactly special."

Louis hesitates a bit, before crossing the room. He perches lightly on the bed, crossing his legs. "But you're a singing government agent. That has to be rare, isn't it?"

Harry grins at him. "You'd be surprised."

Louis quirks an eyebrow. "You're telling the MI6 is simply _bursting_ with song?"

"Yep," Harry answers. "It's a well-kept government secret. MI6 actually stands for Musical Intelligence Six."

"And you all just sing?"

"Sometimes we have a cabaret show."

Louis whistles. "Agent Styles, the cabaret dancer." He says. "I'd like to see that."

Harry snorts, and rolls his eyes. "Maybe one day." He pauses, his brow furrowing. "Why do you do that?"

Louis looks at him questioningly. "Do what?"

"Call me Agent Styles."

Oh. "It's cause that's your title?" Louis hedges, unsure of where this is heading. "You're a government agent?"

"Hm," Harry dismisses, "but everyone else, even James calls me Harry. Really, why do you do that?"

Louis shifts uncomfortably, from where he's perched. "I don't...really know," he admits. He actually doesn't really notice it. "Maybe so it's that I don't forget?"

"Forget what?" Harry asks.

"That you're a government agent."

"Why would you forget?"

"It's cause you don't act like one," Louis tells him, the words slipping easily from his mouth. He shifts again on the bed, looking up at Harry's face. "At least, not how I'd expect."

It's strange, because Louis had always thought that he'd never forget that Harry works for the government. He thought that the idea would always be there, at the back of his mind, letting itself be known every time he and Harry interacted.

But Harry is just so different from what Louis expected a government agent to be like. He just breaks stereotypes, breaks every preconceived notion that Louis had, which is why Louis has to actually, physically remind himself that Harry Styles is _Agent_ Harry Styles of the MI6.

"How do you expect a government agent to act, then?" Harry asks. He looks almost boyish in his curiosity, the question so plainly written on his face.

Louis shrugs, drawing circles on the duvet. "I figured they'd be angrier that they had been kidnapped." He says vaguely.

"Am I not angry enough?"

Not even close. "You could be angrier."

Harry grins at that, before dropping the expression. He furrows his brow, and does his best to level Louis with a glare. "Like this?"

He looks adorable. Louis would rather die than admit that fact.

He settles for laughing, unable to help himself. Harry's brow straightens, and then the grin is back, his left dimple as distracting as ever.

"But really," Harry says, when Louis' laughter dies down. He looks calm, pleased with himself. "You don't have to call me Agent Styles all the time."

"I'll call you whatever I want," Louis answers back, rolling his eyes. It just makes Harry grin wider, his dimple digging deeper into his cheek.

Louis hates that dimple so much.

"So," Harry starts, quirking an eyebrow. "What's on the agenda today?"

"Not telling," Louis answers cheekily. "I don't trust you."

"Damn," Harry says, snapping his fingers. He doesn't look disappointed though. "I was hoping you'd slip up and I'd have some very cool heist stories to tell the MI6."

"Will you sing it to them?" Louis asks.

"Oh, yeah," Harry answers. "Make it a government version of _Les Misérables_."

Louis snorts. "Amazing. Cabaret dancing and _Les Misérables_. I'm truly questioning the government, now."

Harry shrugs. "We like to have fun, back in the MI6. I don't know why people think we're all so serious all the time."

Louis can't help but laugh. "It's a stereotype that comes from working for the government," he answers. "But really, your best bet of having someone slip up isn't me. Ask Niall."

Harry laughs. "Believe it or not, Niall _does_ know how to keep a secret, especially when it comes to stuff about this team. You're all very tight-knit, aren't you?"

"They're like my family," Louis tells him, in a moment of rare honesty. He really shouldn't be saying this, but, fuck it. It's nothing Harry hasn't deduced for himself. "They're the only ones I can turn to right now."

Harry is silent, probably turning Louis' words over in his head. Louis watches the play of emotion on his face, the confusion, the slow dawn of realization, the curiosity. It's so easy to read him.

"Tell me if I'm overstepping," Harry says slowly, "and you don't have to answer if you don't want to, but....what happened to your family?"

He looks sincere, earnest, and it might be a ruse, sure, but right now, Louis doesn't think so. It's hard to explain why; maybe it's the way that Louis can read Harry, the way Louis seems to understand him, in some weird, fundamental level. But right now, it doesn't feel like Harry's going to rat him out, the instant he steps out these four walls, so Louis makes a choice.

"They're alive," he tells Harry, and he tries not to smile as he hears Harry breathe out a small sigh of relief. "I won't tell you who they are, or where they live, but they're alive. I check on them once every few months or so."

"Then...?"

"I have a baby brother and a baby sister," Louis continues. He studiously avoids Harry's eye, looking down at the duvet by the bed.

"I remember."

Oh, yeah. Louis thinks he remembers telling that particular fact to Harry, three years ago. He remembers being excited, ecstatic, especially since they were just born. Louis had always wanted a brother.

"Well, actually they're not babies anymore," Louis corrects, shaking his head, trying to will the memory away. "They just turned three. Practically have their whole lives ahead of them." He takes a minute to breathe, his mind filling with images of Ernest and Doris. "It's kind of fucked up that they're to have a brother who lives like this, don't you think?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, this," Louis gestures to himself, "is obviously not going to last forever. Sooner or later, we'll either get caught or just stop. It'll be kind of unfair to them, if, you know, to be linked to someone like me."

"Oh," Harry says softly. He doesn't say anything else.

"Yeah," Louis answers. He clears his throat, before perking up, plastering a smile on his face. "It's fine, really, I'm not bothered. I'm fine like this. I have Zayn. And the others, of course."

"Zayn," Harry repeats. His brow furrows again, adopting that serial killer face, and, for all his comments about understanding Harry Styles, he still doesn't know what that face means. "You and Zayn are quite close, aren't you?"

"Hm?" Louis asks. "Oh, yeah. He's my best friend. He's been there for me since forever."

"Even since three years ago?" Harry asks. He doesn't say it, but Louis knows what he's asking: _Does he know?_

"Yeah," Louis answers, to both the spoken and the unspoken question. He clears his throat. "I mean, who do you think was the first person I ran to when I saw your curly mug again?"

That makes Harry crack a quick grin, and he laughs, running a hand through his hair. Louis tries not to be distracted by how long it is, by how it falls just past his shoulders. Three years ago, it was just barely past his ears.

Three years ago, Louis _himself_ had run his hand through Harry's curls, had gripped them and pulled, _hard_ , and Harry'd—

"Well," Louis starts, patting the bed in front of him. He tries to keep his face blank, tries to channel years and years of poker into this moment. "It's been grand, Agent Styles—"

"Harry."

"—but I must get going," Louis continues, ignoring him. He quickly pushes himself into a standing position, brushing a bit of lint off his clothes. "I've some errands to run. Bye."

He doesn't look back, simply walks to the door, keys the code in, and opens it, before shutting it behind him, effectively locking Harry inside. He takes a minute to rest against the door, gently leaning his head back, and taking a deep breath.

God, this is kind of a fucked up situation, isn't it?

. . .

The practice vault looks old.

Not that Louis is complaining—a lack of time and a lack of materials means that Liam had to dismantle other vaults he'd made to put together this one, and a result is a mismatched, patched-up-looking vault. However, Liam and Sophia assure them that it's fully functional, with almost all the security features of the real Leviathan.

"We weren't able to recreate the random number generator," Sophia says apologetically. "We haven't got the exact parts needed for it."

Nevertheless, it's enough for Louis to see what it is he's working with.

Sophia also explains to him the other security features of the casino, all the way from the security cameras to their facial biometric system. She points out each electronic lock, and Louis visualizes it, maps it out in his head, brings up and discards different strategies and tactics.

It's a bit exciting, because _this_ is what Louis can do, this is what he's _good_ at. He's alright at gathering intelligence, subpar at anything to do with electronics, but devising strategies and plans, mapping out escape routes and picking locks and doors is what he truly knows how to do.

Granted, he's still at a loss of what to do about the random number generator—they all are, they've seen neither hide nor hair of a key fob, let alone an allusion to its existence, but Louis' sure they'll figure it out.

They always do.

. . .

On the first day of 'practice' (which is what Louis calls it), Louis walks into the kitchen to find Niall, carefully putting away some shopping.

"What's all this, then?" He asks, cocking a hip and leaning against the counter. Niall startles in surprise, but relaxes when he realizes it's just Louis.

He shrugs, opening the fridge and putting the milk inside. "Nothing."

Louis furrows his brow. "You bought flour," he points out. "And eggs. And sugar. And vanilla extract. And—is that baking soda? What, are you going to bake?"

"Don't be silly," Niall dismisses, reaching for the eggs and putting them into the fridge. "I can't bake." He pauses, surveying the ingredients on the counter, before grabbing the vanilla extract and sticking it into the fridge as well. "But Harry can."

What?

"What?" Louis asks flatly.

"Harry can bake," Niall repeats, which, yeah, Louis got that, "and he's been feeling a bit bored lately, so I thought I'd buy some ingredients so that he could bake."

Wait, what the fuck?

"Niall," Louis hisses. He grabs the neck of Niall's shirt, and drags him away from the fridge, before physically turning him around, so that he's facing Louis. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Niall doesn't even look perturbed. "What?" He asks. "He's been a bit bored, and I feel bad for leaving him cooped up in his room."

"Do you know what a bad idea this is?" Louis tells him, shaking his shoulders lightly. He can't believe how stupid Niall's being. "He could hatch his escape plan, with this! He could literally murder us!"

Niall snickers. "What's he going to do, whisk us to death?"

"Poison," Louis hisses. He smacks Niall on the head once, lightly. "He could _poison_ us. Did you not think about that?"

"Oh," Niall pauses, thinking about it. "Well, I hope not. I've been wanting some muffins, and he told me he could bake muffins."

"Niall!" Louis says exasperatedly. "Are you even listening to me?" He shakes Niall again, for good measure.

Niall shoves him away. "Oh, please, Tommo," he huffs, rolling his eyes. "Don't pretend you're still keeping him distant for the sake of the team, and all that. I know for a _fact_ that you go to his place almost every day to feed and take photos of his bloody cat."

That's not the same. Louis goes to feed the cat because he'd feel bad about the cat fucking _dying_. And the photos thing is just...well Dusty's actually adorable, alright? Makes sense for Louis to take photos of adorable things.

It has nothing to do with Harry at all. Really.

Louis clears his throat. "That's different. That has nothing to do with Harry— _Agent Styles_ —at all."

"Okay," Niall says, agreeably. He raises an eyebrow. "Now say that again like you mean it."

Louis sighs. Niall can be such a huge pain. "It's just not fair that an innocent animal will die just because their owner is currently occupied," he says, exasperated. "See? Not about Harry. I'm thinking of the welfare of the cat."

"Yeah, and I'm thinking of the welfare of a person," Niall shoots back. "Wouldn't want him going insane from boredom, under our watch now, would we?"

"Can anyone even go insane from boredom?" Louis asks.

"I don't know," Niall answers, "and I don't _want_ to find out. Hence, baking."

"Baking," Louis repeats. "The baking can actually kill us all, you know."

"Hopefully we get really good muffins out of it, first," Niall says.

. . .

Louis' first go at the vault takes about an hour and a half, which is a bloody long time.

It's not a _bad_ time, though, for a first go—especially since Louis was still unfamiliar with the state of the art security Sophia and Liam had devised—but it still leaves Louis frustrated. Breaking into a vault door should be easy. Breaking into a vault door should _not_ take an hour and a half.

His second go takes about an hour and fifteen minutes, which is marginally better, but _still_ a bloody long time. Liam pats him on the back, congratulating him, but Louis is still very frustrated. He can do better. He _should_ do better.

He doesn't get to have a third go, since Sophia and Liam shepherd him upstairs, to take a short break. Apparently he needs to relax, because in Sophia's words, "We can't have you stress out before the actual heist, Lou."

Which is stupid. He doesn't need a break, he's fine. What he needs is another go at the safe, needs to learn all its stupid tricks and techniques, needs to learn how he'll pick the electronic locks in seconds.

Louis has got his mouth open, fully prepared to argue his case, when he's hit by something that smells absolutely fucking _amazing_.

He instantly spots the source—there's a batch of newly baked muffins on a plate, on their dining table. They're a golden brown colour, and they look absolutely divine. And judging by the way Niall is devouring the one in his hand, they taste absolutely divine as well.

"Blueberry," Niall says, with his mouth full, when he catches Louis staring at the muffins. "They're blueberry! And they're so _fucking good_."

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Niall," Liam reprimands, stepping into the kitchen. He walks over and grabs a muffin, peeling the wax paper off. "You might choke."

"But they're so good," Niall whines. He takes another bite of the muffin. "Harry is an absolute _genius_."

So, these are Harry's muffins. Huh. Louis doesn't know if he wants to taste them, or toss them all in the bin. He's still a bit wary of poison.

"Why thank you, Niall," Harry's voice startles him, and he turns to find Harry standing by the kitchen sink, wearing, of all things, a pink, frilly apron. He grins, and Louis spots his left dimple. "I'm glad you like them."

"I love them," Niall says earnestly, as right beside him, Liam takes a bite of his own. "Honestly, I'd marry them, if I could."

Liam's eyes bulge out as he takes a bite of his own. "They're amazing," he gushes, when he swallows down his mouthful. "Absolutely fantastic."

"I want one," Sophia says, then she's stepping around Louis, going over to grab a muffin from the plate. She quickly takes a bite, chewing it, and, judging by the way her eyes light up, it must really be that good.

Okay. Louis trusts Sophia. He really does. But he still kind of wants to throw them in the bin.

"Louis?" He hears, and he turns to see Harry staring at him, his eyebrows raised, a tiny grin on his face. "Y'alright?"

He's got his hair tied in a bun behind his head, enough that Louis can see the pale curve of his neck and his jaw line, so sharp that Louis could probably stab himself with it.

Fuck, even his stupid bloody jaw line is so distracting.

Louis clears his throat. "I'm fine," he says, levelly, which. Good. Louis' still in control, even while Harry Styles is prancing around in a pink frilly apron and a bun in front of him, always, always managing to get Louis' attention.

It just takes some time, right? Louis' going to be desensitized by his presence soon.

He gestures to the muffins on the table. "So, muffins."

"Muffins," Harry echoes, his voice playful, and Louis resists the urge to roll his eyes. He doesn't understand why Harry likes echoing everything he says. "You can get one, you know. They're not poisoned."

Louis narrows his eyes. "That's _exactly_ something someone who baked poisoned muffins would say."

Harry grins, and, _oh_ , there's his right dimple. Louis hadn't seen it so long, that he was starting to think he imagined it. "Damn, you caught me."

He walks over and picks up a muffin, biting into it. Louis tries not to stare at the way his mouth moves, the way his jaw works, and the way his Adam's apple bobs in his throat as he swallows.

Judging by Harry's smug face when he looks up, he can say he was not successful.

Louis wants to hit him.

"Oh, look," Harry says cheekily, "I've poisoned myself."

Louis rolls his eyes. "Stop it," he says, but there's no venom in his voice.

"I'm just saying," Harry tells him, stepping closer to Louis. "You really have to lighten up. There's literally no way I could've poisoned this."

"I wasn't thinking about poison," Louis says, but Harry completely ignores him.

"Anyway," Harry continues, "Niall was watching me bake the entire time. He practically never left my side. They're a safe batch, really."

Louis quirks an eyebrow. "Prove it."

Harry gestures to where Niall, Liam and Sophia are. "Exhibit A," he deadpans, and it has Louis having to bite his lip to keep from giggling. "They're not dead yet."

" _Yet_ ," Louis says primly, but he feels his resolve slipping, feels himself letting his guard down. It's just so fucking hard to be wary around Harry, who bakes muffins and sings songs and has _two bloody dimples_ , like God had decided that one bloody dimple wasn't enough to ruin Louis' life. Harry, who oozes charisma in spades and who Louis is drawn to despite this entire fucking situation.

Harry must sense Louis' wariness fading, must see something in his face, because he's stepping closer, his bitten muffin in his hand.  It's a bold move, and he knows it, judging by the way he's smiling at Louis, and he's probably expecting a reaction of any form from Louis, but the warning bell in Louis' head is worryingly silent.

Harry just keeps smiling at him. "Really," he says, his voice low, enough that a shiver runs through Louis' spine, "you're over-thinking this."

"Am I?" Louis answers, before he can stop himself. He tries to muster up a sense of urgency, anything, but his mind is strangely lax.

His heart, though. His heart is kicking up a notch, and Louis is pretty sure it's _not_ because he wants to flee.

He doesn't want to think about it. He's not going to think about it at all.

"You are," Harry answers. His dimples are so deep in his cheeks, and it's so fucking distracting. Louis tries to force himself to focus. "Really, it's just a muffin. It won't hurt you."

"It might."

"See," Harry says. "Over-thinking."

He takes another brazen step forward, bringing him an arms-length away from Louis. Louis keeps frozen, keeps his eyes locked on Harry's, watches as Harry's eyes green eyes darken, just a little bit. Watches as Harry's tongue quickly darts out to lick his lips.

Louis' throat is dry, but he doesn't dare swallow. Swallowing is a sign of weakness, and Louis isn't _weak_.

Harry raises the muffin, holding it so that it's in between their faces. "It won't hurt you," he repeats. His voice is soft, much too soft just for simply trying to entice Louis to eat a muffin, but it works, somehow.

Louis tries to protest, but he can't seem to bring himself to, can't seem to say 'no'. It dawns on him that it's kind of frightening how relaxed he is, how completely unguarded he is at this moment, in front of a government agent who would rat them out the instant he takes a step outside. That Louis is comfortable with him around.

And it's kind of frightening that realizing this, doesn't muster up a sense of panic.

He takes the muffin.

(It's a really good muffin.)

. . .

"You're really bored, aren't you?" Louis asks, the fifth time he hears Harry singing. And it's not even quiet singing anymore; Harry seems to have gotten over his initial hesitation at being loud and now just sings Adele at the top of his lungs.

And he does it _all the time_. Which should be annoying, considering that one: even if Harry's heart says yes, his vocal range says no, and two: he only knows about five Adele songs, but for some reason Louis isn't annoyed. In fact, he's kind of endeared.

Maybe the feeling of annoyance is just late, or whatever. Maybe it's still asleep in bed.

Harry grins at him from where he's lying on the bed, before scrambling into a sitting position. "I told you, I'm practicing for my album," he says. "I want it to win a Grammy."

"A Grammy for what?" Louis asks, sitting on the foot of the bed. "Butchering Adele's lovely songs?"

"You say 'butchering'," Harry sniffs, looking mock-offended, "I prefer the term 'reinventing'."

Louis rolls his eyes. "You're so full of shit, aren't you?"

"Only on weekdays," Harry answers. "On weekends I'm only half-full of shit. Or half-empty. Whichever you prefer."

Louis flips him off. Harry giggles.

Rather cutely, Louis would add, if he wanted to. He doesn't want to.

"What are you doing today?" Louis asks instead, leaning back against the footboard of the bed.

Harry quirks an eyebrow. "Um," he says, amusedly, "nothing? Cause I'm stuck in this room? Hence the singing?"

"I thought the singing was you practicing for your Grammy-Award winning album."

"It was me _utilizing_ my downtime to practice for my Grammy-Award winning album," Harry replies. He crosses his arms. "Seriously, Louis. Why are you asking me what I'm doing today, when you know that I literally _can't_ do anything?"

"I just thought maybe Niall had scheduled another activity for you," Louis answers. He mirrors Harry's position, down to the quirked eyebrow. "Like, you know, you had the grand tour. You've already baked muffins. Arts and crafts, perhaps?"

Harry lets out a loud snort, one that makes Louis break character. It is really all sorts of terrifying how endeared Louis is, how Harry can make him smile with even the most innocuous of actions. Louis would probably be terrified if he wasn't too busy feeling all light and warm and relaxed around Harry's presence.

"What kind of arts and crafts?" Harry asks, grinning.

Louis shrugs. "Finger-painting?"

Immediately, Harry's grin grows. "Can we?" He asks. "I want to render you in paint."

"No."

"Why not?" Harry asks. "It could be fun."

"I don't think we have any paint," Louis says, racking his head for the stuff found in the headquarters. He certainly doesn't remember them buying any paint for arts and crafts. He only remembers them buying industrial paint.

Harry isn't deterred. "Crayons, then." He says, with a cheeky sparkle in his eye. "I want to draw you in crayon."

Louis rolls his eyes. "You just want to butcher my face in crayon."

"Excuse me, I told you I prefer the term 'reinvent'."

"Ah, yes," Louis says pushing himself into a standing position. "You're a true visionary."

"Wait," Harry says, his mouth set in a small frown. "Where are you going?"

Louis shrugs. "To run some errands," he answers, looking down at the duvet. "I'll be right back. Just find a way to entertain yourself while I'm gone."

"I can do that," Harry says determinedly, and then he's lying on the bed and starting up his rendition of _Someone Like You._

Louis quickly exits the room, still listening to Harry sing Adele. He stays outside the door, listening as Harry goes through the verse, then the chorus.

Louis waits for something, anything different from this light and airy feeling in his chest.

It doesn't.

. . .

Zayn finds him rummaging through one of the drawers in Zayn's (and now, his) room. muttering to himself. Louis has no doubt he looks a bit crazy, but because Zayn is the best, Zayn doesn't say anything, simply leans against the doorframe.

"What are you doing?" He asks. He has his arms crossed, and he's watching Louis make a mess of his things somewhat amusedly. "Did you need something?"

"Zayn!" Louis exclaims. He whirls around, clutching the box of old crayons to his chest. He doesn't want to lose them, see. "Is it possible to kill someone with crayons?"

Zayn blinks at him. "Uh, no?" He hedges, after a few minutes. "I'm not sure though, let me—" he pushes himself off the door frame and leans his head out his room. "Sophia!" He calls. "Is it possible to kill someone with crayons?"

"I don't think so," comes Sophia's voice, a few seconds later.

Zayn shrugs at Louis. "There's your answer, I guess." He says.

"Perfect," Louis replies, standing up, still clutching the crayons to his chest. "Do you have any paper?"

Zayn points at the direction of one of the drawers. "I think I have one of my old sketchpads there you can use," he says. "Why, though? Are you going to draw the safe or something?"

"Oh," Louis says, "nah. I'm going to give them to Agent Styles."

Immediately, Zayn's expression changes. " _Oh_ ," he says, knowingly, his face smug. "Why does Agent Styles need the crayons?"

"He doesn't," Louis answers dismissively. "I just thought it would be nice for him to have something else to do."

The corner of Zayn's mouth quirks. "So you're thinking about what's nice for Agent Styles now, hm, Louis?"

Louis huffs. "No," he says defensively. He turns around to rummage through the drawer, looking for Zayn's old sketchpad. "You've all been scheduling activities for him to do, like he's some sort of toddler, I thought I'd join in or summat."

"What do you mean 'scheduling activities'?"

"You know," Louis answers. "The touring around the headquarters. The eating together. The baking. Yesterday, I walked into the kitchen to find Nick and Harry trying to do the cookie challenge."

That was a huge waste, too. Harry and Nick were really bad that most of the cookies (that Harry had baked) and the Oreos they used ended up on the floor.

Nick and Harry still ate most of them, though. Because according to Nick, "Hygiene is a social construct," or whatever. Louis doesn't know what he's talking about. Maybe all the matrices have driven him insane.

Or maybe it's just Harry's influence. The Nick Louis knows would never eat things off the floor.

"So, you're, what?" Zayn asks, his eyebrow climbing higher up his forehead. "What are you doing?"

"Joining in the fun," Louis answers. He unearths the sketchpad with a triumphant noise. "Do try to keep up, Zaynie."

And with that, he stands and brushes past Zayn and out into the hallway, not before patting him lightly in the arm, just to show that there are no hard feelings.

"I am keeping up, mate," he hears Zayn call from behind him. "In fact, I'm already one step ahead of you."

. . .

True to his word, Harry does draw Louis in crayon.

Sadly, what comes out isn't exactly a masterpiece. Harry wasn't hiding some secret artistic prowess. In fact, Louis hesitates to call it art, no matter what Harry insists. It's some sort of stick figure in a cap holding a pan and what Louis thinks is a tennis racket.

"It's a squash racket," Harry corrects, when Louis voices out this thought.

Louis blinks at him. "What makes you think I can play squash?"

Harry shrugs. "You look like the type," he says, and scrawls 'LOUIS' above the head of the stick figure, just so that there's no doubt about who this is. "Do you not?"

"Uh, no," Louis replies. "I'm a footie enthusiast, me."

Harry nods seriously, and proceeds to draw a football beside Louis' feet. Or, well, tries to. It ends up looking like some sort of mutated porcupine. Louis honestly doesn't know how someone can fuck up _that_ badly.

But then again, Louis isn't exactly some sort of artistic genius, either. His stick-figure Harry is just a generic stick figure with curls. Lots of curls. Louis made sure of it.

Harry laughs delightedly when he sees it, snatching it from Louis, who was just squiggling another curl onto the stick figure.

"Is that me? I love it, Louis," he gushes, grinning so widely that his dimple looks like a crater in his cheek.

"I dunno," Louis replies, pretending to think about it. He tries to reach for it. "It's not very accurate, innit? I think it needs more hair."

"I think it's perfect," Harry says, setting it down beside his own drawing of Louis. "If you draw anymore hair it's going to look less human and more like an untrimmed cocker spaniel."

"But isn't that what you are?" Louis blinks, his eyes wide.

He gets a crayon to his face for that.

After that, they just end up drawing random things. Harry seems intent on drawing a tree, whereas Louis just ends up drawing whatever it is that pops in his head. A stickman on a skateboard. A sun. A smiley with two x's for eyes. A dog.

"I didn't know we had opened a nursery," Niall says later, when he enters Harry's room and catches sight of them drawing on the floor. He squints at the mess of drawings on the papers. "Colouring time seems to have run long, though."

"He's colouring," Harry says, jabbing a thumb at Louis. "I'm drawing my escape plans on this paper."

Louis rolls his eyes. "You can't even draw," he answers, before reaching over to snatch the paper from Harry, just in case they really _are_ escape plans.

It's not. It's a weird drawing of what Louis assumes to be Dusty.

Louis shrugs and begins colouring it red.

Niall ends up sitting on the floor and watching them, and eventually, grabs his own piece of paper and some crayons. Liam and Zayn find them a bit later, and _they_ waste no time in grabbing a piece of paper and drawing.

And it's ridiculous and shallow but it's also kind of nice, sitting on the floor and drawing. It's mindless and relaxing, a nice reprieve from running around and trying to organize everything for their heist perfectly, even if Louis has just been drawing dicks for the past fifteen minutes. They're getting quite realistic, if he says so himself. He takes a lot of pride in his willy-drawing skills.

It's becomes much more fun when the five of them end up creating their own game of Pictionary.

. . .

The next time Louis hears Harry singing (which is not that long after the entire crayon thing), he's just found a deck of old playing cards and he only hesitates a bit before bringing it with him into Harry's room. The two of them spend about two hours playing a butchered version of  Go Fish, and in that time, Louis has made Harry cry from laughter about thirteen times. He counted.

They also spend the next two hours talking about themselves, Harry opening up easily about his favourite films and his favourite songs. He doesn't talk about his personal life, which Louis thinks is a smart move, but he does make references to his family members once or twice. Louis also spends a bit of time showing him photos of Dusty, who seems to be doing well—she and Louis have a lot more selfies together, and there was this video of her lying down on Louis' chest and purring very loudly.

"I think she likes me," Louis boasts, watching as Harry flips through the numerous photos on his phone. "Actually, I _know_ she likes me. Bet she likes me more than you."

"Please," Harry scoffs, "the instant she sees me, she's going to forget all about you. She loves me the most."

"Nah," Louis counters, rolling his eyes. "You're old news, Agent Styles—"

"Harry."

"—And she's moved on to better people. For example, me." He points to himself, smiling smugly.

Harry stops swiping through his phone, focusing on one photo . When Louis peeks, it's the first selfie he and Dusty took together.

"Yeah," Harry says, his voice strangely gravelly. He clears his throat. "Better people, _sure_."

He looks up and shoots him a tiny grin, one that has Louis' heart flipping in his chest.

Fuck, maybe Louis' developed a heart problem.

. . .

The next time it's board game day, which is kind of risky, given that Monopoly has so many tiny parts and Harry could probably utilize it to mount his escape. Zayn, Liam, Niall, and even Nick seem to think it's a good idea though, and join him when he brings the game up to Harry's room.

But it's not a good idea. Monopoly ends with Zayn quietly winning everyone's money, Niall and Nick close to tears, and Liam and Harry refusing to speak to each other.

. . .

Hilariously enough, Louis doesn't run out of ideas for activities.

Granted, most of them are activities for toddlers, but Harry seems to enjoy them all the same, even the boring ones like origami folding (Nick suggested that, how lame). He tackles them with this strange amount of enthusiasm that makes Louis excited for something as mundane as colouring in a clown or folding a paper giraffe. It's either Harry's just that type of person, normally, or he's just been cooped up in here way too long.

Another hilarious thing is that Louis still hasn't felt the feeling of annoyance he'd been expecting.

If anything, he feels the opposite of annoyance. He looks at Harry and he feels this weird, light, bubbly feeling in his chest; he feels, dare he say, endeared.

What a thought.

And it's not like Louis has forgotten what happened three years ago. In fact he still remembers it clearly, the shock, the hurt, the panic, the anger. Except now he's started to remember other things. Different things. Things he'd forced himself to forget.

Like how Harry looked beneath the dim lights of the hotel bar, in his fitted suit jacket and just a hint of muscled chest beneath his unbuttoned, white shirt. How red his lips were from the cranberry vodka he was drinking while speaking with Louis. How his green eyes sparkled with happiness as Louis regaled him with stories. How warm and big his hand was, on Louis' knee, then on Louis' thigh. How his mouth felt against Louis' earlobe, so wet and so lush.

It's kind of problem because now, it takes Louis longer to remember that Harry works for the government, that he's being held against his will. It takes Louis longer to remember that Harry isn't a friend, nor is he a new member of their heist team, and it's actually pretty terrifying that he forgets this, that he forgets who Harry truly is. Terrifying that he seems to be losing control of his thoughts, that it seems to be slipping from his grasp, the same way it did three years ago, when faced with the same man.

It's terrifying, yes, but it doesn't make Louis' smile any dimmer when he's faced with Harry. The most he can do is wrap an arm around his stomach and hold himself together, force himself not to slip anymore, to try and control what seems to be lost to him.

. . .

"I found this in my room," James says, tossing a football at Louis the instant Louis steps out of the practice safe. He's getting better at unlocking the security now; his time has gone down to about forty-five minutes. He's still aiming to get it down to about ten, so they can have a lot of time to work on the random number generator lock. The key of which, they _still_ haven't found.

"Oh," Louis says, catching the ball. He takes a drink from the bottle of water he left at a nearby table, and waves at Liam, gesturing for him to start again. "Thanks. I'll put it in Zayn's room."

James gives him a look. "So you don't want to bring it?" He asks.

Louis blinks. "Bring it where?"

James raises his eyebrows and crosses his arms, looking somewhat like a disappointed parent. "We're moving headquarters, remember? We discussed this, few weeks ago."

And shit, yeah, they did. The memories come barrelling into Louis' brain like a freight train. He remembers sitting on the basement, discussing what to do with Agent Styles, discussing whether to throw away their plan just because Harry had happened to overhear it. How their entire plan was jeopardized.

"Did you forget?" James asks him, sounding much more disappointed now. Kind of like his mum.

Louis shakes his head. "No, I didn't," he says strongly. "It's just....there were more important things on my mind."

Like the security features of the vault. And the floor plan of the casinos. And the security guards patrolling the area. And Agent Harry Styles.

That last thought makes him pause. When did Agent Harry Styles become something (or someone, rather) he thought about regularly?

He doesn't say it, but the thought must show on his face because James is uncrossing his arms and reaching over to pat Louis on the back.

"Look," he says, his voice gentle. "I think Harry is a great person. I like him too."

"I do _not_ like him," Louis denies.

"But we have to be cautious," James continues, like he hadn't heard Louis at all. "We have to remember that, despite him being ridiculously funny and charming, he's the same person who compromised our entire operation."

Louis _knows_ this. Louis thinks about how Harry is the same person who's going to take them all to prison the instant he gets set free _almost daily_.

"He knows what our headquarters look like," James says, pulling Louis into a hug. "He knows our faces. Our names. How we operate. And that's a lot. Which is why the only thing we can do, is to hide."

"Yeah, I get it," Louis answers, swallowing. His throat feels dry. There's a weird feeling in his chest.

Fuck, he's _really_ got a heart problem, doesn't he?

"Do you?" James asks kindly.

"I do," Louis answers, surely, very surely, because he _does_ get it. He understands. He doesn't know why James doesn't think so.

He takes a deep breath. "I'll start packing tonight."

James claps him on the back.

. . .

Somehow, Louis keeping Harry company whenever he hears Harry singing becomes Louis keeping Harry company whenever he can.

It's not exactly intentional—the first time, it was after Louis had a go at their practice vault, and he was frustrated because he had gotten stuck with a couple of locks that he shouldn't have, and thus resulted to him not being able to reach his target time. So, without thinking about it, he had simply climbed the stairs and entered Harry's room.

Harry, of course, hadn't even batted an eyelash; he'd just started talking about fajitas, of all things, until Louis started responding and it ended in them squabbling about whether nachos or tacos was better. Louis maintains that it's nachos, but Harry is stubborn on his insistence that tacos are better, and, in his words, 'you haven't tried _my_ tacos yet, Louis.'

Louis is starting to believe that Harry is actually just some sort of prank the MI6 pulled on them.

But it does make him feel better, so the next time he needs to relax, he doesn't hesitate to go into Harry's room. Sometimes, Zayn joins him, but most of the time it's just him and Harry, chatting, exchanging funny stories and anecdotes, squabbling about trivial things.

It's when they're finger-painting (because Harry hadn't shut up about it and Louis eventually gave in and bought paint), that Harry asks.

"Why do you always come here?"

Louis hums, swirling his finger in the pot of yellow paint. "What do you mean?" He asks, his eyes fixed on his own paper.

"I mean, you're always here nowadays," Harry continues. Louis doesn't look up, but from his peripheral vision, he can see Harry's finger moving in broad strokes on his paper. "Even when I'm not singing."

"I just come to make sure you're not dead," Louis answers. "Wouldn't want that."

Harry snorts. "I don't think I could die, not with how nice you all are treating me. It's getting kind of creepy, actually."

"Hey," Louis replies, shooting Harry an affronted look. "You're the first person we've ever kidnapped. We're just trying to be nice."

Harry grins. "I know," he says. "But really, why do you always come here? I was under the impression that you didn't like me that much."

And that makes Louis pause. He _doesn't_ like Harry that much. Harry is the symbol of everything he's against, a representation of the fact that Louis had brought him in and subsequently, caused the downfall of their entire operation. Harry serves as a daily reminder that Louis fucked up, and that, the instant he gets out of here, his entire team, the only family he has left, is fucked too.

But Harry is also charming and endearing. Ridiculously so, in fact. He's also funny, in the sense that it's fun to laugh _at_ him, not _with_ him, and he's quick to smile and somehow, he really manages to lift the mood of the entire house, even if he's just confined to this bedroom. He makes a lot of quips and stupid puns, and despite his entire situation, he's been nice. Polite. Gentle, even.

Okay, maybe Louis likes Harry a lot more than he previously thought.

He refuses to let on, so instead, he clears his throat and says, "You're somewhat relaxing."

Harry quirks an eyebrow. "Relaxing? Like a beach?"

Louis gives him a look. " _No_ ," he says, trying not to let himself smile, "it's just. I don't know how to explain, but, like, you relax me? Like your presence."

"My presence," Harry repeats.

Louis rolls his eyes. "Here we are with the entire 'repeat-after-Louis' game. I swear to God, Agent Styles, you're more of a kid than I previously thought."

"Harry," Harry corrects mindlessly. "Well, we _are_ finger-painting." He lifts his index finger, the tip of it covered in purple. "Might as well go all the way."

"Might as well," Louis agrees, leaning down to draw a sun on his paper. "I could put your hair up in pigtails!"

"As long as they're plaits. I've heard I look really good in plaits."

They fall silent again, focusing on their artwork. It's a while before Harry speaks again.

"What has you stressed out?"

Louis doesn't look up from his paper. "I can't tell you that."

"So, it's about your upcoming heist."

Louis shrugs. "Can't say anything."

"You know," Harry says conversationally, "I think you're the most stressed out of everyone.  Like, honestly, Niall isn't even _that_ stressed."

"Niall doesn't get stressed," Louis answers dismissively. "Or, well, he does, but he laughs when stressed. He stress-laughs."

"I know," Harry answers. "Like that time we played Monopoly."

"He stress-laughed when he started losing money," Louis remembers fondly. Niall had started laughing when Zayn had started taking everyone's money, and by the end of it, he was laughing, even though there were tears in his eyes. It was a funny sight.

They vowed never to play Monopoly again.

"Yeah," Harry replies, a fond grin on his face. "That was kind of funny. But like, _your_ stress is so evident, even if you're not laughing. Like, I noticed you hold your shoulders a certain way when you come in here and you're worrying about something."

"What are you, a body-language expert?" Louis snipes, but secretly he takes a deep breath, trying to relax himself. He doesn't know if Harry is right, but he doesn't _want_ him to be right.

"Nah," Harry answers, "just observant."

"Wow," Louis answer sarcastically. He quirks an eyebrow. "What else have you observed, o Omniscient One?"

Harry's left dimple makes an appearance, before he's looking down at his paint-stained fingers. "That you like being in control."

Louis freezes. "What do you mean?"

Harry shrugs. "I dunno," he says, "it's just that, I noticed that you want everything to go your way. A small deviation from it gets you wound up really quickly."

And that's true, and this particular trait of his is something Louis made peace with long ago (and utilized, hence his skill in thievery). However, Louis' just shocked that someone who's been here for only a few weeks noticed that about him. Maybe he really _did_ let his guard down too much.

"So what if I do?" Louis asks. "Want to be in control, I mean."

Harry shrugs again. "I think that it's good to be in control sometimes," he says slowly, "but I also think that it's good to give it up. Relax a bit."

Louis tried letting go, once. Tried not being in control, tried leaving something to the higher powers of the universe, be it destiny, fate, chance, or whatever.

And doing that led to their heist almost failing, and him accidentally sleeping with a government agent. This government agent, to be specific.

So, yeah.

But instead of saying that, Louis laughs, somewhat forced. "Right," he says somewhat awkwardly, and leans over to peer at Harry's paper. He frowns. "That's...uh, very purple."

And he's not making fun of Harry, he _isn't_. It's just that Harry's canvas (or piece of paper) looks like some sort of purple explosion. He'd drawn a bunch of things—Louis isn't exactly sure what—but most of them are in shades of purple, ranging all the way from lavender to deep plum. Louis actually mentally applauds him for that. His art leaves something to be desired, but his ability to create shades of purple with nothing but a children's paint set is admirable.

Harry chuckles bashfully. "Uh, yeah," he says, dipping his finger into more purple paint and placing it on his paper. "I was just, kind of missing my sister?" He takes a deep breath. "Her name's Gemma and she really likes purple."

Louis knew Harry had a sister, an _older_ one—he'd mentioned her once or twice—but he'd never had a name before. And now she has a name, and a favourite colour.

"She's a journalist," Harry continues, despite Louis not asking. "She writes for one of those online websites, not sure about the name, though. I'm a horrible brother." He smiles ruefully. "She's wicked smart though, graduated top of the class. She likes to tease me and snark at me and yeah, I'm missing her a lot."

And hearing Harry say all this, hearing Harry describe his sister, makes Louis realize that outside of being a government agent, outside of being their (sort of) prisoner, Harry actually _exists_. He's not just Agent Harry Styles, he's a brother. A cousin. Fuck, he's a _son_. Maybe even a boyfriend.

A feeling of guilt settles in Louis' stomach. Shit, what has he done? He's taken a fully functional member of society, complete with, like, roles and family ties and just kept him here. To save their arses.

He can't let him go now, but he can't help but feel horrible about it.

"Louis?"

Louis snaps out of his thoughts, giving Harry his most charming smile. "Sorry, I just, got lost for a second there. Thought about my own sister. Well, sisters."

"Sisters?" Harry asks.

"I actually have five in total," Louis shares, ignoring the voice in his mind telling him that this is _not_ a good idea. "And then Ernest, my baby brother."

Harry whistles. "That's a big family."

"Yeah," Louis answers. He dips his finger in yellow paint. "Doris likes the colour yellow. Or liked—" he laughs, "—I haven't seen her in so long, I'm not sure if she's changed her favourite colour by now. But last I saw her, it was yellow. She loved everything yellow."

He remembers the little yellow duck toy she liked to mouth at. She's probably outgrown it by now.

"But it's fine," Louis continues, still smiling at the yellow paint. He looks up and meets Harry's gaze, still smiling. "Like I told you before, it's best that she doesn't get associated with me. Just knowing that she's alive, that they're _all_ alive is enough." He frowns in thought. "Besides, I like to believe that I'm sort of helping society, and therefore helping them, by, like, donating to the charities and whatnot."

"Which charities did you choose?" Harry asks curiously.

Louis shrugs. "Eden Dora Trust," he says, simply. "I think it's heartbreaking that there are so many sick children, and, you know, obviously, every pound helps, uh..." Harry is gazing at him with that serial killer face again, and Louis' face feels hot. He looks down on his lap, trying to will the blood away from his cheeks. This is so stupid. He's so stupid.

Why is he even reacting like this?

He clears his throat and looks up to meet Harry's gaze. "And the, uh, Albert Kennedy Trust."

Harry raises an eyebrow.

"I had a really easy coming out," Louis elaborates, forcing himself not to look away. To hold Harry's gaze. "My mum pretty much embraced me after I told her I was gay, and that was that. But when I heard that there are teenagers who are kicked out of homes, who are beaten up by their parents, I knew that I needed to help, in whatever way I can."

Harry doesn't say anything. In fact, he doesn't even _move_. Louis' not even sure if he's still breathing. It puts him on edge.

Finally, Harry speaks. "I see."

"I don't expect you to get it," Louis says quickly. "I mean, you work for the government, you _have_ to side with the law. You just wanted to know, I guess, so I'm telling you."

"No, no," Harry says. His face is still stoic, unreadable. "I get it."

He doesn't say anything after that, simply goes back to finger-painting. Louis takes a moment to watch him, watch as he creates _more_ shades of purple, before going back to his own work.

. . .

"So, I have some news," Niall tells them, on their next group meeting. "I've found the keyfob. Thing. Whatever."

Immediately, they all fall silent.

"Well?" Nick demands. "Out with it!"

Niall raises his hands defensively. "Alright, alright. Apparently, it's been with the owner of the Hadid hotel, and he entrusted it to his wife, who in turn, entrusted it to their daughter."

"Who's the daughter?" James all but demands.

Niall shrugs. "Uh, Gigi, I think was her name."

"Perfect," Louis says, sitting up straight. "Then we can just swipe it from her. I mean, that's gotta be easy, doesn't it? Rich girls can be kind of careless."

"Woah, hold on Tommo," Niall says, raising an eyebrow. "We can't swipe it from her, because see, last I heard, she was in New York. And she _will_ be in New York, until next month."

The room is silent.

"Are you sure?" Sophia asks.

"Positive."

"But how will they get the safe open then?" James asks.

"See, the thing is, the keyfob has a little screen with the code of the number lock," Niall answers. "So, to get the code, all they have to do is call her and have her read out the code."

Liam whistles lowly. "That's a lot of international phone charges, that."

Niall shrugs. "Eh, they're rich anyway."

"So what we have to do," James says slowly, making everyone's attention snap to him, "is to get her to read out the code to us." He clears his throat. "Niall, do you think you can get vault security detail? So she can read the code out to you?"

Niall scrunches his face up. "I don't know, mate," he answers, crossing his arms. "It's kind of hard. And obviously, a vault that big, they wouldn't let _just_ anyone have access to the keyfob."

"Well, try anyway," James urges. "That's our plan for now."

"I don't like it," Louis pipes up, fixing James with a look. He knows it's not really his place, but, well. James will understand. "We're leaving too much up in the air. The number lock is the most crucial piece of security, I refuse to leave it up to chance."

"I don't like it either," Zayn volunteers, ever the helpful and supportive best friend.

James sighs. "Look, I don't think any of us like it," he says, rubbing a hand down his face. Louis is suddenly painfully aware of the dark circles under James' eyes, how tired he looks. This heist must be stressful for him as well. "But that's our only choice for now. That's the only thing we've got. If you have any other ideas, I encourage you to raise them now."

Nobody says anything.

James sighs again. "Guess that's that."

. . .

And Louis _really_ doesn't like it, doesn't like the idea of their entire heist hinging on whether or not Niall will be able to get Gigi fucking Hadid's number. It's way too dangerous. They've worked too hard on this heist to risk it on something like that.

Zayn, Nick, and he try to come up with other ideas, but they're all left stumped. The vault is practically impenetrable, and Louis would actually go and commend the makers if he wasn't feeling so frustrated. It's a work of art.

Of course, despite this roadblock, life goes on. Louis goes through the practice vault, visits the Jenner casino, goes to feed Dusty, continues hanging  out with Harry. It's normalcy. Or at least a semblance of it.

It doesn't last long.

He's with Liam, Niall, and Zayn in Harry's room one evening, eating dinner and squabbling, like they always do when they're all together. Nick and Sophia are there too, and they're sorting a deck of Uno cards between them, counting and checking if all the cards are there. Because apparently they're going to play Uno.

Harry and Niall look excited at the prospect.

They go a few rounds, getting more and more competitive with each other. By the sixth round, they're almost tearing at each other's throats. By the eighth, they've gotten tired and are all just tossing cards around.

Nick squints down at their pile of cards. "Soph, is that a green six or nine?"

Sophia yawns. "It's whatever it wants to be," she answers. "It doesn't want to be restricted to whatever number role it's assigned. It wants to be free."

"No, but for the purpose of the game, what is it?"

"It's free, that's what it is."

"There's no 'free card' in Uno, Sophia, you're making shit up—"

Niall forcibly throws down a red four. "It's a four," he declares, when Sophia and Nick turn to look at him. He shrugs. "You said it could be whatever it wanted to be. It's a four."

Nick blinks, and throws down a red seven.

Louis simply looks at them, before moving to rest his head against Zayn's shoulder. From here, he can see Zayn's cards, but it doesn't really matter now. The game's shit, anyway.

Besides, he's about ninety-nine percent sure Sophia, Nick and Niall are at least a little bit tipsy. Where they got the alcohol, Louis doesn't know. He hasn't seen alcohol around the house since they accidentally kidnapped Harry. It's just safety.

Across the room, he can feel Harry looking at him, can feel Harry's gaze on the way he's leaning his head against Zayn's shoulder. It makes his cheeks heat up, but he ignores it, choosing to lean closer to Zayn.

"Zaynie," he whines, nuzzling into Zayn's neck. "I'm tired."

Zayn simply pats him on the head with his free hand. "Wait, I want to beat everyone on this game."

"It's not even going to be a challenge anymore," Louis protests. "They're all sort of drunk, and Liam's about to fall asleep. He might be drunk too, I'm not sure. I want to be drunk too."

Zayn sighs. "There's half a bottle of tequila in Niall's room."

"Yay," Louis squeals, then pauses. "Wait, how'd you know that?"

"Remember when I said I was going to the bathroom?" Zayn tells him. "I didn't really."

Louis narrows his eyes at him. "You dirty liar," he accuses, then smacks a kiss on Zayn's cheek. "Be right back!"

He pushes himself to a standing position, surveying the room. Nobody seems to pay him any attention except Harry, who isn't even looking at the game anymore. Instead, he's looking at Louis, his eyes dark.

Louis swallows slowly, and feels his heart flip in his chest.

His heart problem is getting worse and worse, isn't it?

Harry's expression haunts him all the way to Niall's room, where he does three shots of tequila in succession, with a shot glass helpfully left there by someone. Probably Niall. It haunts him as he sits on Niall's bed, waiting for the tequila to kick in, waiting to feel it in his bloodstream. It stays on his mind as he makes his way back to Harry's room, a bit tipsy.

Suddenly, Louis is angry. Who the fuck does Harry think he is? Who gave him the right to stare at Louis like that? Why does he even pretend to be all and angry and mysterious, when Louis has seen him giggle at Louis' drawing of cocks? Has seen him finger-paint, has seen him draw ugly pictures of cats and make stupid puns?

It's an irrational anger, he knows, but he doesn't care. Harry Styles is pissing him off. He has no right to look at Louis like that. No right to be angry. No right to make Louis feel guilty for being touchy with Zayn, his _best fucking friend_.

He storms in to Harry's room. Harry's eyes latch on to him immediately, and he doesn't even bother to hide the fact that he's openly staring at Louis. Fine. He wants to stare? Louis will make sure Harry can't keep his eyes off him.

Louis locks the door behind him, marches into the room and promptly plops down on Zayn's lap.

"What are you doing?" Zayn asks, as he shifts to accommodate Louis. He doesn't look bothered.

"The floor was uncomfortable, so I'm sitting here," Louis declares, wiggling closer to Zayn. He takes a peek at Harry, finds him still looking, his eyes darker than Louis has ever seen before. Good.

Louis feels his heart flip in his chest.

Zayn hums. "You can just sit on the bed," he points out, his eyes still focused on the play of the Uno cards in front of him. "That's more comfortable."

"But the bed won't cuddle me," Louis pouts exaggeratedly, playing it up for Harry's sake. Harry, who still hasn't looked away from him and Zayn. Louis feels a sense of victory.

"Cuddle me, Zaynie," he demands, and Zayn sighs but complies, wrapping his arms around Louis. Louis makes himself look pleased, nuzzling into Zayn's cheek.

"I know what you're doing, Louis," Zayn murmurs to him. He adjust a bit, enough so he can rest his chin on Louis' shoulder.

Louis grins roguishly. "I'm not doing anything."

"Keep telling yourself that," Zayn says, picking up a card and throwing it into the Uno pile. Louis hears Niall groan in frustration, before peeking at the pile. Looks like Zayn threw a draw four.

"It's not me, mate," Louis protests, as Sophia elbows Liam to take his turn. "He won't stop _staring_. He makes me so mad."

"Yeah, well," Zayn replies. "Maybe you should think about _why_ he makes you so mad."

Harry Styles only makes Louis mad when he's like this. Because he won't fucking stop _staring_. Zayn can be so dumb, sometimes.

"I'm still smarter than you," Zayn replies, which makes Louis realize that he said that out loud.

"Yeah, yeah. Shut up and keep cuddling me."

Eventually, Louis' anger wanes, enough for him to move off Zayn's lap (but not without a kiss to his cheek, in case Harry's still staring). He ends up leaning against the footboard of the bed, only partially paying attention to what's happening in the room. They're starting a new game of Uno, but this time Sophia is making up new rules.

Louis is, frankly, quite sick of Uno. His eyes travel, unbidden, to Harry, who isn't looking at him anymore—instead, Harry is grinning at Nick, who's trying to contest Sophia on every single one of her rules. The harsh fluorescent makes him look pale, much paler than he does normally, but Louis can still see his two dimples, digging into his cheeks.

His green eyes are bright, but they're a pale colour, sort of like jade, and Louis' has always been shit with metaphors, but even more so when he's three tequila shots to the wind and kind of really sleepy.

He decides that the solution for this is _more_ tequila shots.

After another three, he stumbles back into the room. This time, when Harry looks at him, his eyes aren't jade—they're much warmer, a tiny bit bluer, and Louis thinks 'sea foam' and it's an apt description; Harry's eyes are the sea, and Louis realizes that it's so, so easy to drown in it.

He shakes his head, finds his way back to the bed and flops down face-first on it.

But the thought is still there, has wriggled its way deep into the recesses of Louis' brain, and, like a seed, digs its roots deep into the soil and sprouts up like a plant. Like a tree. Tree of thought, Louis thinks somewhat amusedly.

And it's now when he begins to notice: the way his hair curls so prettily, down his shoulders, and frames his face so nicely. How sharp his jaw line is, as if it could cut glass. How red, and plump his lips are, and how he bites at his pillowy bottom lip when he's nervous.

The pale line of his throat, the way his Adam's apple bobs when he swallows. The broadness of his shoulders, the size of his hands, and his mile-long legs.

How pretty Agent Harry Styles actually is.

 _Yes_ , he thinks, before he drifts off where he's lying, _Agent Harry_ _Styles is so fucking pretty_.

. . .

He wakes up when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

"Zayn?" He mumbles sleepily, before yawning and nuzzling into the sheets beneath him.

He hears a low chuckle that is decidedly _not_ Zayn. "`Fraid not," Harry's voice says, and it's enough to wake him up fully.

He feels Harry take his hand off his shoulder, and he flips over, so he's lying on his back and staring up at Harry hovering over him.

"Hi," he says, and tries to hide another yawn with the back of his hand. He sees Harry start to grin, and fuck, he's so pretty, and why did Louis just realize this now?

"Hey," Harry answers, grinning, and God, Louis was doing _so_ much better when he didn't realize how pretty Harry actually is. "You're in my bed."

"It was my bed before," Louis snipes, but he sits up anyway, moving to the edge of the bed. He's not drunk anymore—he seems to have slept away all the alcohol—but his movements are riddled with sleep.

"It was," Harry agrees, still grinning like the prettiest thing on the planet. A flower. Harry Styles might be a flower. "But you so _generously_ lent it to me for my stay."

"Because I'm the best," Louis answers, racking his brain for flowers. Sunflowers. Roses. Carnations. Hibiscus. Hm. Maybe Harry is a hibiscus. Harrybiscus. That works.

"What are they doing?" Louis asks, brow furrowing as he catches sight of Sophia, surrounded by all the other boys. They seem to be listening to her in rapt attention, while she discusses something that looks very important.

Harry shrugs. "Secret group meeting," he says. "Said I wasn't invited."

"Aww," Louis says sympathetically, before looking at the group again. They're quite obviously planning something, going by the way they're hunched over and by the way Liam looks up every once in a while to shoot suspicious glances at Harry and Louis.

Whatever. Louis doesn't need to be in their secret meeting.

"Well, I wasn't invited too, so we can stick together," Louis tells Harry, ignoring the way his heart reacts to this own statement. He meant 'stick together' as in 'keep each other company while everyone else is doing whatever it is they're doing'. God, get it together, heart. "Did you want to do something?"

Harry doesn't answer right away. Louis looks at him, confused.

Harry's got his lower lip between his teeth, and he looks unsure, like he's mulling something over. Eventually, he shakes his head. "Nah, I'm fine staying here."

And that? That is a blatant _lie_ , if Louis ever saw one.

"Bullshit, Agent Styles," he says, ignoring when Harry corrects him, "you want to do something? Then tell me. And we're going to do it. Aggressively do it, even, and we're _going to rub it in their elite secret group meeting faces_."

He raises his voice at the last part, and gets five middle fingers directed at him. He rolls his eyes.

Harry is still biting his lip, looking unsure. "Well," he says, somewhat timidly, like Louis is going to deny him, which, psh, no, Louis isn't, "I kind of wanted to bake some cupcakes—"

"So we'll bake some cupcakes!" Louis interrupts loudly. "We're going to bake a batch of the bestest cupcakes ever, my little flower, and we're going to eat them all and not share with any one of those pricks."

"My little flower?" Harry asks amusedly, but he pulls Louis up from the bed and into a standing position. Louis stumbles a bit, but finds his footing. Take that, gravity.

Louis reaches up to pat Harry on the face. "You're a hibiscus," he says solemnly. "A Harrybiscus."

Okay, so maybe he's still a bit drunk.

Harry just grins at him, taking it in stride. "Okay," he says. "You have to be a flower too. You're a Louly."

Louis makes a face. "That's the ugliest name ever," he replies, but he pats Harry's face to show that there's no hard feelings. "Alright, wankers, we're off to bake the bestest batch of cupcakes, a la Two Broke Girls, and don't come crying to us when you want to have some because you won't be allowed."

He strides confidently across the room, Harry at his heels. "Bye," he calls, entering the code, but not without making Harry stand a respectful distance away, so as not to see it. The door swings open, and he and Harry exit quickly, making their way down the stairs and into the dark kitchen.

. . .

Harry looks completely at ease in the kitchen. In fact, he probably looks more at ease than Louis, who still eyes the kitchen counter warily every time he comes in. He's lost count of the times he's accidentally hip-checked it, all because he miscalculated where it actually is.

"Can you get me the milk and the butter, please?" Harry asks, from where he's standing by the counter, with a whisk in his hand and an empty bowl in front of him. Beside the bowl, there are packets of flour, baking soda, sugar, salt, and other things Louis isn't sure about it. He's hopeless in the kitchen.

But milk and butter. That he can do, easy.

He finds it easily, pulling it out of the fridge, and moving to place it together with the myriad of ingredients Harry has gathered. He makes sure to line them up, so that it's neat and organized.

When he finishes, he looks up to find Harry looking almost fondly at him. "Ta," he says, smiling, then he pauses. "Bloubell."

Louis sighs. "This flower thing isn't working."

"Hey," Harry says, affronted. "I like it. Nothing wrong with a little flower power."

"But  what about flour power?" Louis asks, nodding to the packet of flour Harry has in front of him. "You wanna get baking, or....?"

"Yes!" Harry exclaims excitedly, somehow looking like a child on Christmas day. He hands Louis the whisk, before picking up the measuring cups. "Okay, I'll be measuring and putting the ingredients into the bowl, and what I want you to do is to whisk them while I do that."

"Wait," Louis says, but Harry doesn't pay him any mind, too focused on his task. It's not until Harry has mixed all the dry ingredients and is starting to add the butter that he notices Louis not doing anything. Took him long enough.

"Louis!" Harry chides, sounding a bit like his mum—it makes Louis roll his eyes. "Why aren't you whisking?"

"Uh," Louis says, scratching the back of his head, "how do you whisk?"

Harry raises an eyebrow, and Louis is about to open his mouth, maybe defend himself, when suddenly, one of Harry's large hands is covering Louis' right hand, and gently guiding it to the bowl.

Louis' mouth snaps shut.

Harry moves his hand in a circular motion, and _that's_ probably how to whisk, but Louis can't focus on that at all. Instead, his mind is stuck on how large Harry's hand is, that it almost completely engulfs Louis' fist. How long his fingers are, much longer than Louis', and that thought makes Louis swallow.

"There," Harry's voice rumbles in his ear, and Louis didn't even notice that he had moved, didn't even notice Harry behind him. Didn't even notice how Harry's strong, toned chest pressed against his back, didn't even notice how close they are, so, so close that it's almost as if Harry is _embracing_ him.

His chest clenches at the thought.

"Thanks," he says weakly, and he winces. God, he sounds so pathetic.

"No problem," Harry answers, and Louis waits for him to pull away, but strangely enough, he doesn't. If anything, he seems to press closer, and it makes Louis acutely aware of the places they're touching. Of where Louis' bum seems to be pressed against some of Harry's, well, other bits.

Of how he kind of likes it.

Fuck.

After what feels like an eternity, Harry pulls away. He shoots Louis a small smile and goes back to measuring his ingredients, his brow furrowing. Louis, in a daze, just continues moving his hand in a circular motion.

Eventually, Harry gets all the ingredients into the big bowl, and, after taking one look at the pile of mush Louis made, takes the whisk and the bowl from him and starts mixing them more efficiently. Louis takes the time to secretly admire Harry's biceps. Who knew baking could emphasize the muscles this way.

"You know," Harry starts conversationally. He's still whisking, his hand moving quickly as he tries to make the batter as smooth as he can. "Before, when I was still in university, my stepdad would let me help bake the cupcakes for the hotel."

Louis decides to go and make himself useful. "Really?" He asks, fetching the cupcake liners. He might be hopeless in the kitchen, but this he can do, at least. He's not an idiot. "Who's your stepdad?"

"Robin," Harry says. "His name was Robin Twist."

Louis drops the packet of cupcake liners.

"Oh," he says shakily, when he finally recovers. He feels his back break out in cold sweat but he ignores it, instead picks up the packet, pulls one cupcake liner out, and places it on the tin. "I see."

Twist. Fuck. Harry's _stepdad_ owns the Twist hotel. The one from three years ago.

Which means that Louis essentially stole about fifteen million pounds from Harry's parents.

He doesn't know why the thought bothers him. Usually, Louis is all for sharing the wealth. He firmly believes that the rich, or at least, the rich _er_ members of society should give back, should help those with less. He doesn't think that the wealth should be hoarded, he thinks that it should be distributed. The wealthy should give more to society, so that everyone can be given the opportunity to live a comfortable life.

No, he realizes, the thought bothers him because of the fact that it's Harry's parents. Harry's _mum_ , who, he can tell, Harry loves very dearly. The one who puts a small smile on Harry's face, every time he so much as mentions her in conversation. The one who raised Harry to be a such a charming, polite boy who always says please and thank you, who, despite being in what is probably the least ideal situation ever, still manages to smile.

She also raised Gemma too, he remembers. Gemma who's a journalist. Gemma who's wicked smart, who likes the colour purple, and who Harry is apparently very close to.

Surely, someone who raised Harry and Gemma to be like that isn't all that bad. Isn't deserving of losing fifteen million pounds in the blink of an eye.

Louis' so lost in thought, he doesn't realize that Harry has stopped whisking, and has gone over to where Louis is. He takes the packet from Louis and starts placing the cupcake liners on the tin.

Louis shakes his head and grabs the packet back from Harry. He can do this task, he's not an idiot.

Soon, all the holes have cupcake liners in them, and Harry doesn't waste time in filling them in with the batter. He picks the tin up when he's done, and Louis watches as he brings it over to the oven, pulling open the door and sliding them in. Louis takes out his phone, sets a timer, and leaves it by the kitchen counter.

Then it's silent.

"At least, uh, now I know," Louis starts awkwardly. He clears his throat. "I mean, at least now I know why you were there. In the Twist hotel, three years ago."

Harry shoots him a kind smile from over his shoulder, and starts gathering the ingredients to make the icing. "Yeah," he answers, and it's something in his tone of voice that makes Louis brave, brave enough to move closer to Harry. "It was partly cause I was visiting, but also partly `cause Robin asked me to check the security over in his hotel. There'd been report about a heist that happened simultaneously in three different hotels, and he was worried."

Louis remembers that vividly. He, Zayn, and Niall had split up, had decided to rob one hotel each. It was a risky plan, but it worked, and they ran off with almost fifteen million pounds between them.

"It's enough," Zayn had said then, his face lit up with euphoria. He'd been riding the high of their first big heist.

"Enough?" Niall had replied, laughter woven into his tone. "It's more than enough!"

But Louis, despite his glee, shook his head. "No," he'd said then, his tone jubilant, but still serious, serious enough that it made everyone, even James listen to him. "I don't think it's enough. I think we need more."

So they planned again.

Harry shrugs, the movement bringing Louis back to the present. He bites his lip. looking down at the ingredients in front of him. "Yeah," he continues. "I kind of failed there, didn't I?"

Instantly, Louis feels his heart seize in his chest. "No," he says. "No, you didn't. You can't blame yourself for that. I stole the money, it was _my_ fault."

Harry shakes his head. "You don't understand," he says, beginning to whisk the ingredients. "That's not what I was talking about."

"Then what are you talking about?" Louis demands.

It's a few seconds, before Harry sighs, his shoulders hunching inward. "I failed," he says slowly, "because I was supposed to check security that night, but instead, I got distracted by this boy I saw at the bar."

This time, when Louis' heart seizes, it's for a different reason.

"He was so pretty too," Harry continues casually. He turns to shoot Louis a cheeky smile. "Still is, actually. But he was just sat by the bar, nursing a martini. He barely even looked legal."

"Oi," Louis says, crossing his arms. " _You_ barely looked legal."

"We're not talking about me, are we?" Harry answers, with an amused look on his face. It makes Louis roll his eyes.

"Anyway," Harry continues. He's still whisking, the ingredients melding seamlessly into each other, "he was just sat there, alone, so I thought, why not introduce myself? At least, if he's not interested, then at least I can say that I tried."

"Well," Louis says, moving the ingredients and hopping onto the kitchen counter, "I distinctly remember this boy being interested."

"Oh, he was," Harry says, shooting Louis a smirk. "He let me sit on the stool beside him and I bought him a drink."

"Then you proceeded to embarrass yourself with your arsenal of knock-knock jokes, is that right?"

"I didn't _embarrass_ myself," Harry replies, dignified, "I thought they were quite funny."

Louis snorts. "Okay."

"He must've been charmed, though, because we spent the entire evening talking. He told me all these stories," Harry says, and Louis thinks he sounds almost fond. "He was funny and cheeky and so, so pretty. I couldn't take my eyes off him."

He finishes whisking the icing, and moves to put it in the fridge. Louis tries not to stare at the way Harry licks the excess icing off his thumb.

He mostly fails.

"Couldn't keep my hands off either," Harry continues, and he's turning to face Louis. He pins Louis with a gaze, before crossing his arms, leaning almost casually against the fridge.

Louis decides to lean back and be casual too. Or, as casual as he can be with his heart pounding in his chest.

Fuck, this isn't a heart problem, is it?

"Told me to keep my hands to myself, first," Harry reminisces. His gaze doesn't waver from Louis' face.  "Said he wasn't that type of boy."

Louis swallows. "Wasn't he?"

Harry shrugs. "You tell me."

What is there to tell? Harry was there the entire time. Harry knows exactly what happened, exactly how everything played out. He knows, just as well as Louis, how that night ended.

Even if Louis lied, even if he told a different story, he can't change the facts. He can't change how smitten he was with Harry then, and how the night ended with him in Harry's bed.

"You terrified him, I think," Louis says instead, changing the direction of the conversation. He breaks eye contact with Harry, directing his gaze to his lap. "That's why he didn't want you to touch him."

He hears Harry move closer. "Oh?"

"Yeah," Louis replies. "When you touched him, it was just," he waves a hand, trying to stop the blood going to his cheeks. "You made him want to give up control."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"Of course it is," Louis replies, still not looking up. "This boy, he had a job to do, see. A job that required utmost concentration and _control_. And then you come in, and you just touch him and he just—" he swallows again. "You have to realize how scary that is."

Harry doesn't say anything for a while, so Louis forces himself to look up. Harry's gazing at him softly, gently, like Louis is something so, so precious. It makes Louis forget how to breathe.

"I'm sorry I stole your parents' money," Louis offers after a while, when Harry still doesn't speak.

The corner of Harry's lip quirks up. "I'm sorry for going through your stuff while you were sleeping."

"I'm sorry for going through _your_ stuff while you were in the shower," Louis counters, remembering how he found Harry's MI6 identification card in his wallet. Remembers how it felt like he was being doused in ice cold water.

"I'm sorry I handcuffed you to the bed," Harry says.

And Louis waits for the feeling of betrayal to rise up again, waits for his anger to rear its head, but it doesn't come. Instead, the feeling of remorse stays, tinged with a feeling of something Louis thinks is fondness.

He waves a hand. "Your job was to catch the thief, I suppose," he says, "and you caught me."

"Still," Harry insists. "I think I may have crossed some sort of line by handcuffing you while you were defenseless." He pauses. " _And_ after I gave you that really good orgasm."

He rolls his eyes, but there's a smile fighting its way through. "It wasn't that good," he jokes, and continues before Harry can say anything. "I'm sorry I broke through the handcuffs and took the money from your wallet."

"I did wonder where my hundred pounds went," Harry muses. He pauses, then looks down at his feet, like he's gearing himself up to say something. "I'm not sorry I kissed you, though."

Louis feels as if the wind was knocked out from his lungs. "Oh," he breathes.

"Yeah," Harry says. He bites at his bottom lip, and slowly looks up at Louis again. There's no trace of humour on his face. "And if I'm being honest, I'd really like to do it again."

The timer goes off.

"The cupcakes," Louis says dumbly, and Harry wastes no time putting on the mittens and opening the stove. He pulls out the tin slowly, and immediately, the room is awash with the scent of newly baked cupcakes.

Louis moves to get the icing out of the fridge, while Harry sets the tin down on the small kitchen table at the other side of the room. He takes the bowl of icing from Louis, and then uses a spatula to transfer the icing into some ziplock bags he'd set aside.

He doesn't say anything, and neither does Louis—he just watches quietly as Harry works to put all the icing into the bag. When he's done, he seals the ziplock, before cutting a tiny hole on the corner.

By that time, the cupcakes have already cooled somewhat, so Harry gets started on icing them. Louis hangs back; he's _really_ not any good at anything related to creating food, and he doesn't want to ruin all of Harry's hard work. Instead, he just goes to retrieve his phone from the counter.

The date on the screen makes him furrow his brow. Huh.

The first of February.

Something important is happening on the first of February, Louis is _sure_ of it. He's seen the date before, heard someone in the house talk about it a few times, but he can't seem to place the occasion.

It takes a while before it hits him.

It's Harry's _birthday_.

Suddenly, Sophia's secret group meeting makes sense. Niall _had_ been whinging about it, complaining about how they 'already had Harry kidnapped' and how they 'should do something nice to celebrate his birthday'. They're probably doing some last minute planning on a surprise party, or something. Maybe even arguing cake flavours.

"Wait," Louis says. Harry's got the cupcakes out of the tin, and already has most of them iced. He makes an inquisitive noise.

"Don't touch the cupcakes first," Louis orders. He goes to rummage through a kitchen drawer, managing to retrieve a lone candle and a lighter. The candle looks a bit old, and it's from Louis' own birthday a few months ago, but it works.

He walks over to where Harry is still icing the cupcakes, sticking the candle into the prettiest cupcake he finds. Which is hard, because all of Harry's cupcakes are pretty. He's really got some skill.

"What are you doing?" Harry asks, but Louis ignores him, instead, he flicks the lighter. It takes three tries for the flame to catch on the candle, then Louis picks up the cupcake.

He takes a deep breath, and holds it out to Harry. "Happy birthday."

Harry looks at the cupcake, then back at Louis. He doesn't say anything, but Louis can see that gentle expression on his face again, the way he looks at Louis he's a gift, like Louis is everything he's ever wanted.

Louis moves the cupcake slowly. "Well?" He says. "Make a wish and blow out your candle."

Harry still doesn't say anything, but he does close his eyes to make a wish. He opens them after a few moments, and then he's gently blowing out the candle.

When he speaks, his voice is low. "Thank you, Louis."

Louis takes a moment to set the cupcake back down on the table, before he's stepping forward, closing the distance between them. Harry's so close now, close enough that Louis can see the little blue flecks in his eyes, can feel Harry's chest brushing against his own every time he inhales. Can reach up and cup Harry's face.

And that's what he does, gently cradling Harry's face between his hands. He lets his thumb brush at the high point of Harry's cheekbone, and smiles when one of Harry's hands come up to cover his own.

"You're welcome, Harry," Louis says softly, and Harry gives him this brilliant, brilliant smile, and then he's leaning down, slowly, pressing his mouth to Louis'. He's so heart-wrenchingly gentle when he kisses Louis that it makes Louis' chest ache, makes him press closer to the warmth of Harry's body.

His mouth is as lush as Louis remembers.

. . .

Louis was right; the next day, there's a chocolate cake in the dining room, complete with candles and loopy script-writing. It's huge—apparently Niall had gone out and bought three different chocolate cakes from three different bakeries, and Nick had the bright idea to layer them on top of each other, never mind that they're all different shapes. It ends up looking somewhat ridiculous, and a bit deformed, leaning on one side, but still edible, which is all that really matters when it comes to them.

There are also balloons everywhere, stuck to the wall or scattered on the floor, that Louis feels like he's at a children's party. It also makes it very difficult to walk, everyone having to lift their feet up comically so as not to step (and accidentally pop) a stray balloon, but sacrifices must be made.

And, to no one's surprise, Harry absolutely loves it.

He looks positively delighted when Niall leads him into the room, his eyes sparkling as everyone choruses 'Surprise' at him. He makes sure to thank everyone personally, even Louis, who didn't really do anything to contribute to this little party. When he tells him as much, confused, Harry just laughs, and pulls Louis into a hug, and whispers 'thank you' in his ear.

Nick leads everyone into a rousing, off-key rendition of Happy Birthday, and by the end of it Harry is in hysterics, tears of laughter running down his face. They sing it three more times before Sophia stops them, demanding that they get to the cake.

Liam tells Harry to blow out his candles, which Harry does, but not before shooting Louis a secret smile. He cuts the cake after, distributing slices between everyone, and Louis doesn't think he's ever been happier than at this moment, with everyone laughing at each other over cake and Harry's foot hooked around Louis' ankle.


	3. Chapter 3

Louis doesn't know if the kiss is supposed to change anything, or if it's even supposed to mean something, but as it is, he can't stop thinking about it. It pops in his head at the most inopportune moments—when he's going through the practice vault, or when he's in the shower, or when he's about to fall asleep.

Also when he's hanging out with Harry. Always, always with Harry.

He can't help it; one minute he's laughing at Harry, the next he's staring at the shape of Harry's lips, remembering how they felt pressed against his own. Remembering how they tasted, sweet, like icing, as if Harry had snuck a taste of the cupcake while Louis was distracted.

Thinking about how he'd really like to kiss Harry again.

The revelation doesn't shock him as much as he thought it would.

Harry doesn't catch him staring, thank God, but Zayn does, on one of their group lunches. He doesn't say anything, but he does shoot Louis a smug expression, which he wears all throughout the day up until Louis pulls him aside and tells him everything. And _even then_ he doesn't stop wearing that smug expression whenever both Harry and Louis are in the vicinity.

Louis doesn't tell Niall, but he suspects Niall knows, anyway. He takes to pushing Harry and Louis together whenever they're in the same room, like some sort of over-excited mum whose son is going to prom with a gorgeous date, or something. It makes Harry blush and Louis roll his eyes.

The only one who doesn't seem to have caught on is Liam, actually. He just stares at them like some confused puppy, and still acts as if Louis is going to get mad every time he mentions Harry. He even continues giving Louis sage words of advice about being nice to their kidnapper, to which Louis laughs at. Liam's so late to the program.

. . .

It's an accident, the first time it happens.

They haven't had any progress about getting any access to the keyfob, and therefore the money inside the Leviathan. And with Fight Night looming closer and closer, everyone is understandably on edge.

Each member of their team ends up dealing with their stress in different ways: James disappears to do whatever it is that he does, Sophia kickboxes, Nick makes stupid iPhone apps, Liam goes to the gym, Zayn draws. Even Niall, who's arguably the most happy-go-lucky member of the team, starts laughing—this morning he had poured tea into his cereal and started laughing at it.

And Louis? Louis gets loud.

Obnoxiously loud.

He had been obnoxiously loud that first time, making a lot of noise and causing chaos, in general. Everyone had already started ignoring him; even Zayn, who Louis can rope into most things, has started ignoring him and walking the other way whenever he so much as _sees_ Louis.

It was on one of their group lunches, Zayn and Liam studiously ignoring him, Niall quietly laughing at all of Louis' horrible jokes, when Harry had looked up from his plate with a small grimace, reached over and caught Louis' wrist in his hand.

"Louis," he'd said, his voice tinged with an order. "Stop."

And the thing is, Louis _hates_ when people talk to him like that. Usually, the people who do talk to him like that are rewarded with a smack on the face and Louis being even louder. Usually, nobody even _dares_ to do that, just lets Louis be until he runs out of energy.

But for some reason, with Harry, he had stopped. He had completely forgotten what it was he was going to say, could only focus on Harry's big, warm hand, how his palm felt against his skin, and how they could completely encircle Louis' wrist. How tiny and miniscule and _fragile_ the bones of Louis' wrist looked in Harry's hand.

And then Harry had let go, after a gentle squeeze to Louis' wrist, and Louis had suddenly found himself quiet, subdued for the rest of the lunch.

Louis hadn't really given it much thought, at the time—Harry is a very distracting person in general, and it makes sense for Louis to get distracted by Harry's hands. It was probably just a one time thing.

Except it happens again.

Louis was being obnoxiously loud, this time alone with Harry. They were colouring, and Louis couldn't help but make fun of Harry's colour choices and pull at his curly hair.

Harry, cool as a cucumber, had reached up, grabbed Louis' wrist, and pulled it off his head, then proceeded to simply _keep_ it in his hand. Louis had sat, frozen, his hand mid-air as Harry continued colouring as if nothing were amiss.

In retrospect, Louis doesn't know how long it was he spent sat with his wrist in Harry's hand, all he knows was that he sat still, not daring to move, not even daring to breathe loudly. He remembers his heart had been running a marathon in his chest, remembers how he couldn't dredge up a single thought, remembers that he hadn't even tried to pull his wrist away, even when it had started to get a bit sweaty and uncomfortable.

Eventually, Harry had glanced at him, and Louis watched as the realization of what he's doing, of what he's _still_ doing dawns on his face. He had let go of Louis' wrist, quickly, as if it burned, and Louis had couldn't do anything but stare at him.

"Sorry," Harry had said, looking surprised that Louis had let him hold onto his wrist. His fingers had clenched around thin air. "I didn't, uh, notice."

. . .

It's not a thing.

Louis doesn't want it to be a thing.

It's just _something_ that happens every once in a while. It's nothing to think about; Harry's touch just calms him down, relaxes him. It's as simple as that.

The others don't seem to notice, to which Louis is grateful for—he loves them, yes, and tells them everything, but this thing is new, and they would definitely ask questions Louis doesn't want to answer. He has an idea, of course, of what it is, but he doesn't want to acknowledge it.

So he ignores it.

Harry, though, obviously notices this little thing. However, he doesn't do it often; instead, he uses it sparingly, whenever he feels that Louis has gone too far, or when he's at his wit's end trying to calm Louis down.

He doesn't even have to grab Louis' entire wrist for it to work. Sometimes, all he has to do is brush a finger on his wrist. Other times, press a thumb to Louis' pulse, or scratch the inside of Louis' arm lightly. And, just like clockwork, Louis finds himself falling silent, finds that the stress and chaos in his head is just gone. Finds that his body reacts to Harry's touch, the way his muscles relax and he goes plaint.

Almost like he's giving up control.

And it should be terrifying, how one touch from Harry has such a huge effect on Louis, but it's not really a revelation, is it? Louis has known this for years. Maybe he forgot about it for a while, but the thought was always there, somewhere in the back of his mind.

 Besides, it's _Harry_. Louis knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that Harry wouldn't hurt him.

. . .

"Fuck," Louis says, fuming. He runs a hand through his hair angrily. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_."

His timer blinks at him, telling him his last go at their practice vault took fifty minutes. Five minutes more than the previous two goes he had. Which means that he took a few seconds longer to unlock the stupid fucking locks, took a few seconds longer to access the safe, and took a few seconds longer to get out of the fucking vault.

He mentally kicks himself. Fight Night is less than a week away, and he hasn't even gotten to his ideal time of fifteen minutes. The closest was forty minutes, which he was only able to do two fucking days ago.

And forty minutes isn't enough.

It's all Harry's fault, Louis thinks angrily, as he takes a drink of water bottle he'd set aside. If Harry hadn't kissed him, then Louis wouldn't be this distracted, wouldn't have a time of _fifty fucking minutes_ , even though he's pretty sure he already knows this vault like the back of his hand. As it is, Louis can't stop thinking about the kiss, can't stop thinking about Harry's _pretty fucking face_ and _long fucking fingers_ and his _two fucking dimples_ and it's really starting to be a detriment to Louis' job. Probably even to Louis' mental health.

He sighs, shaking his head. It was a really good kiss, he'll give Harry that. One of those fairytale ones, the ones that make your toes curl up in your shoes and make you hear an orchestra in your head. Harry had kissed Louis gently, but so, so thoroughly, that it made Louis crave for more.

He wants Harry to pull him close, close enough that their noses are touching. He wants Harry to lean down, press his gorgeous mouth against Louis'. He wants Harry to open up for him, so that Louis can taste him, taste the crevices of his mouth, run his tongue along the ridges of it. Would he still taste sweet, like icing? Or would he taste of cranberries, like he did three years ago?

Maybe Harry would taste of something else. Maybe like a rich chocolate, one Louis would not get tired of tasting, over and over. Maybe Louis would try to bite it, nip at Harry's bottom lip, maybe he won't; maybe he'll just lick it, savouring the taste on his tongue. Maybe he'd go further, taste the other parts of Harry—he can't remember what the skin beneath Harry's jaw tastes like, but he wants to remember, wants to lick at it, bite at it, and—

He blinks, and shakes his head. Fuck, he got distracted _again_.

Louis fucking hates Harry Styles.

He takes a deep breath, trying to focus—he can probably still squeeze in one more practice run before he goes to bed—when someone is grabbing his arm, forcibly pulling him _away_ from the safe.

"Oh no, you don't," Zayn says, rolling his eyes. "You're done for the night."

Louis digs his heels in. "Zayn," he whines, struggling in Zayn's grasp. "I can't. I have to go again."

"Nope," Zayn replies, using the hidden strength in his scrawny body to pull Louis behind him. "You're not. You are going to rest now."

"My time is fifty minutes, Zayn," Louis replies, still trying to pull away. " _Fifty minutes_. I need to practice."

"Which you can do tomorrow," Zayn tells him, pushing him up the stairs and out of the garage. "After you've relaxed and slept."

Louis rips his arm away. "Do you want this heist to fail or not?" He demands, when Zayn turns to face him. He raises an eyebrow, crosses his arms, and taps a foot. He refuses to move until Zayn answers his question.

A few seconds pass, and then Zayn sighs. "Of course not," he says, "but it's late, and you're tired. You need to rest."

Suddenly, Louis is painfully aware of how tired he is, how his muscles are aching. He refuses to wince, though. Wincing means Zayn has won, and Zayn _can't_ win.

"No, I'm not," he says stubbornly, trying to ignore how his muscles scream in protest. "I'm fine."

Zayn rolls his eyes. "I'm too tired to deal with you right now," he says, and then he's grabbing Louis' arm, forcing him into the living room. "Here."

He pulls Louis hard and lets go, making Louis lose his balance and trip over his own feet. He braces himself for impact, shutting his eyes, when suddenly, a large pair of hands grab him by his elbow, steadying him.

"Louis?" A voice that sounds distinctly like Harry asks, and all the anger Louis has for him is reappearing, bubbling to the surface. He feels himself tense up immediately, feels himself start to scowl.

"You deal with him," he hears Zayn say, and then there's the sound of retreating footsteps.

Louis opens his eyes.

Harry is looking at him, obviously worried. His brow is furrowed, his mouth tilted downwards and Louis can see nothing but concern reflected in his green eyes. He's still got a tight grip onto Louis' elbows, like he thinks Louis would fall headfirst into the floor the instant he lets go.

Louis almost scoffs at that. He's not a child.

He takes one pointed step backward, out of the circle of Harry's arms. Harry lets him go easily.

"Louis," Harry says, his voice firm despite the concern in his eyes. "You need to rest."

"You don't get to tell me what I do and do not need, Harry," Louis spits back, crossing his arms. He's angry, he's really fucking angry, and he really fucking hates Harry Styles and his distracting _everything_ right at this moment.

It's his fault Louis can't do his task properly. All his fucking fault.

"You're exhausted, Louis, and—"

"And what?" Louis demands. "You think that just because we kissed, you have the authority to tell me what to do? To bundle me up in blankets and tell me to go to bed?"

In his peripheral vision, he sees Niall lift a hand to bite at his nail, looking back and forth at them like he's watching a particularly riveting game of tennis.

"That's not what I'm saying," Harry's voice is calm, soothing, and it makes Louis even angrier.

"Oh, that's definitely what you're saying," Louis answers, venom lacing his tone. Fuck him, really. "You're treating me like I'm some sort of child who can't take care of himself when in reality, I've been doing just fine, thank you. In fact, I was doing even _better_ before you."

Harry doesn't say anything, but Louis notices that his jaw clenches imperceptibly.

"Everything went to shit when you arrived," Louis finishes, fuming. " _You_ turned everything to shit."

And then Louis watches as Harry's eyes harden, watches as the set of his jaw becomes more pronounced. He's angry. _Good_.

"In case you don't remember," Harry snaps, "I don't actually want to be here. You fucking _brought_ me here."

"And what a horrible decision that was," Louis sneers, ignoring the way his heart starts beating faster. "Ever since you arrived, _nothing_ has been going right. You've been distracting everyone with your singing and your baking and your colouring and the fucking board games—"

"I didn't ask for any of those," Harry replies, furious. " _You_ were the ones who got it into your head that I was bored and in need of attention."

"Which you obviously thrive off," Louis shoots back. "Face it Harry, you're a fucking _distraction_." He spits out the last word. "You've managed to distract us all, make us forget the fact that you're a government agent who's going to rat us out, the first chance he gets."

Harry doesn't say anything, doesn't even deny the accusation. Louis feels a sick sense of pleasure.

"Niall spends hours talking with you, instead of using it to go do his task, did you know that?" Louis continues. "So does Liam. And Zayn. And Sophia. And Nick. And even me. We all spend our time eating with you, talking with you, _getting distracted_ by you." Louis huffs out a humorous laugh. "I even take time out of my day to feed your fucking cat, just because you mentioned her."

"I didn't ask you to do that," Harry says angrily. "I never asked any of you to do that."

"And now I can't even do my job properly," Louis barrels on, pretending he hasn't heard Harry, "because I can't stop fucking _thinking_ about you. I'm down there, practicing for the biggest heist we've ever had, and I'm thinking about your fucking hair and your pretty fucking face and your fucking mouth, Jesus—" he lets out a breath "—you're such a fucking distraction and it makes me so _mad_." He finishes, his anger slowly dissipating. "So fucking mad."

Harry doesn't reply, just watches Louis. His jaw is still set, his eyes are still angry, but there seems to be something different about it. Like there's something else there. Louis can't figure it out.

"So," he says, finally. His voice is lower than Louis' ever heard it before. "You're getting mad at me because I _distract_ you?"

There's something in the tone of his words that makes Louis' anger flare up again. God, who the fuck does he think he is?

He really fucking _hates_ Harry Styles. He doesn't think he's ever hated someone to this much.

Louis uncrosses his arms, ready to do something, like deck him in his fucking face—he'd look so pretty bleeding, he thinks—but then suddenly, Harry grabs his wrists, his fingers wrapping around them like cuffs, and Louis...

Louis just falls silent.

"Niall," Harry says, his eyes never leaving Louis' face. He swallows, his Adam's Apple bobbing, and Louis  slowly mimics the the movement. "Can you leave us alone please?"

"Will you two be alright?" Louis hears Niall ask, unsurely. He doesn't turn to look at him, though. He refuses to tear his eyes away from Harry.

"We'll be fine," Harry replies. Apparently Harry us on the same page, because his eyes are glued to Louis'. "It's nothing Louis and I can't handle."

"Okay," Niall says, still sounding skeptical. He hesitates, for a few seconds, then speaks again. "I'll, uh, be in the other room, if you need me. Or, uh, just in case anything happens. Yeah."

Louis distantly hears Niall's footsteps fading, but he doesn't dwell on it; rather, he dwells on how tiny his wrist looks in Harry's hand, how Harry can probably feel his pulse fluttering in his palm, the way it's running, in time to the pounding of his heart.

Harry's tongue darts out to wet his lips, and Louis can't help but track the motion.

"You're so wound up," Harry says, his tone amused. He shakes his head, pulls Louis closer by the wrist. "Getting cross at me for being a distraction, that's new."

Louis wants to bristle at the statement, wants to open his mouth and shout at him some more, because really, fuck him, but he physically _can't_. It's like he's forgotten how to control his muscles.

All he can do is stand dumbly there,  with Harry's long fingers curled around his wrists.

"So, you think of me while you're practicing for your heist?" Harry continues. His voice has taken a teasing quality to it now. Louis tries to focus on it. "Think of my 'pretty fucking face', was it?" The corner of his lips quirks up. "My mouth?"

Louis can't say anything, can't think of anything to say. His mind feels blank, like there's nothing in there except the feel of Harry's large hands around his wrists and Harry's voice, low and smooth, like some sort of rich velvet.

And then Harry squeezes his wrists gently, so gently, enough that it makes Louis' breath hitch.

"Yeah," he manages to get out. His mouth feels like it's made of cotton wool.

How the fuck does Harry Styles have this effect on him?

"My mouth on yours?" Harry asks, leaning forward. His voice is an octave lower from when he started, and Louis suddenly feels goose bumps erupt on his arms. "Kissing you until you can't breathe?"

An involuntary shiver runs down Louis' spine.

"Or is my mouth somewhere else?" Harry continues, pressing closer. He lets go of one of Louis' wrists, his long finger moving to stroke up Louis' neck and press beneath his jaw. "Here, perhaps?" His finger moves, and then Harry's hand is trailing down, until it rests on in the middle of Louis' back. "Or here?"

His hand dips to rest above the curve of Louis' arse. "Or maybe lower?"

Louis feels hot all over, and Harry's hand _burns_. He forces himself to take a deep breath, keeping the air in his lungs. He counts _one, two, three_ and tries to pull his wrist away from Harry's grasp.

Harry doesn't let him, though.

He tightens his grip, not letting Louis move an inch. "You're so wound up," he observes, his voice incredulous. "You're always so wound up. Always have to be in _control_."

He leans closer, his hand still tight on Louis' wrist. "Let me help you," he continues, his voice melodic—a siren's song breaking through the muddle of Louis' thoughts, and Louis can do nothing but hear it, can do nothing but swim closer and closer to it. "Let me help you lose control."

He slowly loosens his grip, and then eventually lets go. Louis lets his wrist fall, paying no mind to it; he refuses to look away from Harry, whose green eyes are so dark they're almost _black_. They no longer remind Louis of sea foam, instead, they remind Louis of the depths of the ocean, where the light doesn't reach.

He doesn't say anything, just continues to watch Louis, like he's particularly interesting—like he's _prey_ , Louis realizes. Like Harry's the predator and Louis' the prey and it shouldn't be hot at all. In fact, it should be a hundred shades of fucked up, the way Harry's looking at Louis like he wants to eat him, wants to sick his teeth into Louis' flesh and eat him raw.

But instead it makes Louis flush all over, makes his heart kick up a notch. Makes him reach up to cradle Harry's face in his hands, the same way he did, a few days ago.

He makes a split second decision.

He quickly pulls Harry down, and then he's mashing their lips together roughly, forcefully. Harry gasps into the kiss, and Louis uses that opportunity to slip his tongue into his mouth, uses that opportunity to reacquaint himself with Harry's taste.

Harry doesn't taste like icing, or cranberries, or even chocolate. Instead, he tastes of something rich, heady, like a really well-aged glass of whiskey, and it makes Louis' head spin, makes him feel like he's drunk. Harry's mouth is a velvet heat on his tongue and Louis can't help but moan, can't help but continue to get drunk on his taste, exploring Harry's mouth until his lungs burn for oxygen.

"You're the worst," he gasps out, when he separates their lips. He tries to pull away, but Harry doesn't let him, places his hands right above Louis' arse and pulls him closer. He noses underneath Louis' jaw, bites gently at the skin, and soothes it with his tongue.

"The absolute _worst_ ," he continues, tilting his head to give Harry better access. He feels Harry smirk against his skin.

"Relax." Harry's tone is lazy, sinful, and it goes straight to Louis' cock. He bites at Louis' neck, sucks a bruise on his skin. "Close your eyes. Let me take care of you."

"I can take care of myself, thank you," Louis says unsteadily, trying not to let himself get lost in the sensation. "I don't need your help."

"I know you don't," Harry murmurs into his skin. "But I want to."

One of his hands come around to brush a finger against Louis' wrist, and Louis shivers and goes pliant immediately.

"Please," Harry murmurs, pulling away to look at Louis. His finger is stroking the inside of Louis' wrist now.

With much effort, Louis pulls away and stumbles back, until he makes contact with the wall. Harry follows, hot on his heels, and it's not long before he's got Louis pinned against the wall.

"Relax," Harry murmurs, in the small space between them. His other hand comes up to rest on Louis' hip. "Just let go."

Louis feels Harry's thumb brush against his skin, and it _burns_. He feels hot all over, like there are flames licking his skin, and it feels like he can't breathe, can't get enough air, and Harry is looming over him, broad-shouldered and lean and making him feel tiny, protected; like he's _safe_ and—

And Louis closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and lets go.

Harry must see something on his face, because in an instant, Harry's mouth is on his, hot and lush and so fucking intoxicating that Louis can do nothing but groan, can do nothing but take it, relish in the broad sweep of Harry's tongue against his own. His mind is still spinning, and Louis is _so_ dizzy, but he wouldn't be able to stop kissing Harry, even if his life depended on it.

He reaches up and grabs a fistful of hair and pulls—Harry moans loudly, beautifully, into his mouth, and Louis goes from zero to hard, really fucking quickly. Harry presses closer, pushing Louis further into the wall, and slips a thigh in between Louis' legs, pushing him further into the wall.

"I'd forgotten how good you tasted," Harry murmurs into his ear, after he pulls away. He catches Louis' earlobe with his teeth, tugs at it. "How sweet."

Louis swallows slowly, shifting against Harry's thigh. He tries not to moan at the pressure on his cock. "Harry," he says.

"Love how you say my name," Harry replies, his voice smug.

" _Harry_ ," Louis says again. He starts rutting against Harry's thigh, little, tiny thrusts. His wrist is still in Harry's hand, and Louis can't bring himself to pull it away. "Harry, please."

"Please what, Louis?" Harry asks. He presses his thigh harder against Louis' crotch, and Louis whimpers.

He pulls Harry's hair to retaliate. "Please _do something_ ," he says, and his voice is desperate, on edge.

Like he's lost control.

Harry must hear it though, because he's moving away, grabbing Louis' wrist and pulling him along. They stumble up the stairs, Louis tripping over himself, and then suddenly, they're in front of Harry's bedroom door.

Harry pushes him forward, and then takes a step back.

Without hesitation, Louis enters the keycode.

The instant they're inside, Harry pounces on Louis, picking him up and throwing him roughly on the bed. Louis doesn't even have time to protest before Harry's on top of him, searing their mouths together hungrily, messily. He bites down at Louis' bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood, and to retaliate, Louis grabs at his hair again and _pulls_.

Harry moans, and it makes Louis' cock throb angrily between his legs. He groans in frustration, bucking up, trying to get something, _anything_ on his aching cock. It feels like he's been hard for years, and although he's not desperate yet, he's getting there.

Harry understands him, though, because he's pulling away, and Louis watches as he licks his lips, catches Louis' eye and then grinds down. Hard.

Pleasure floods all of Louis' synapses, and it makes him throw his head back and whine. Harry latches onto his neck immediately, biting and sucking, his hips not even stopping in their motion. Like this, he can feel how hard Harry is, his cock rubbing against Louis' thigh, can feel it when Harry starts rutting against him.

"Fuck," Louis moans, pushing his own hips up meet Harry's—it feels good, but he needs more. He needs actual contact with his cock, and if he doesn't get it now, he's going to die. Or perhaps murder someone. Maybe Harry.

God, Harry is the absolute worst.

"Fuck you," Louis says, or at least he thinks he does. "I absolutely fucking _hate_ you."

Harry doesn't even pull away from where he's sucking what feels like a large bruise into Louis' neck. He just moans prettily in response.

It makes Louis' cock even _more_ painful. Really, fuck Harry Styles.

Eventually, he moves away, reaching down to pull his shirt off. Even his torso is pretty; pale, but muscled, and Louis feels himself lick his lips.

God, he wants to taste, wants to bite and bruise at Harry's pretty fucking chest.

Harry helps Louis takes his shirt off, and once Louis is half naked, he leans forward, catches Louis' lips with his own.

"I can't stop kissing you," he gasps into Louis' mouth. "God you're so—"

He doesn't finish, breaking off into a moan, one that Louis echoes. Harry just. Harry just kisses so wonderfully, is the thing. He kisses exactly how Louis loves to be kissed, all passion and anger and roughness but still a hint of sweetness, still a hint of gentleness. Louis thinks maybe he could kiss Harry forever, he could live off the curve of Harry's sinful mouth; the rest of the world could burn and he'd be okay. As long as Harry's lips are on his, he'll be okay.

"Off," Harry says into Louis' mouth, pulling at the waistband of Louis' sweats. "God, Lou, I wanna see you, I—"

Louis bites at his plush bottom lip, making him moan, and then he quickly divests himself of his sweats. Harry does the same, and soon there's nothing in between them. It's just skin and friction and their cocks brushing together and the wet, velvet heat of Harry's mouth.

Harry pulls away and Louis whines at the loss. He tries to pull Harry closer, tries to kiss him again, but Harry isn't having it; instead he's ducking down, laving a tongue over Louis' nipple, before biting harshly on the bud.

Louis doesn't scream, but it's a close thing.

He clutches onto Harry's neck as Harry continues to play with his nipple, biting at it and sucking love bites around it. His other hand comes up to toy with Louis' other one, flicking at it, and Louis' so overwhelmed he can't _breathe_.

"Please," he whines. He's sure his fingernails are digging into Harry's skin, and it probably hurts, but Harry doesn't even seem to notice. "Please, Harry."

Harry's mouth attaches itself to his other nipple, laving over it with his tongue, and one of Harry's hands trail down, slowly, until he's wrapping a hand around Louis' cock.

He thumbs at the head, collecting the pre-come there, and then he's using it to slick up the shaft. He pumps his hand slowly, torturously slowly, that it makes Louis whine and writhe in an effort to get him to move faster.

"Harry," he cries. He feels hot all over, can feel beads of sweat dripping down his forehead and neck. He arches up, trying to fuck into Harry's fist, but Harry gives him a look from underneath his eyelashes, and pointedly bites on Louis' nipple.

He pulls off with a noise. "Louis," he says, his voice raspy. It makes a shiver run down Louis' spine.

"Fuck you," Louis replies, panting. He bucks up again, trying to get more friction on his cock, but then Harry, _infuriatingly_ , pulls his hand away.

"Stay," he orders. He presses Louis' hips into the bed. "Don't move."

He inches down, pressing kisses down Louis' stomach and his navel, scraping his teeth against Louis' skin. He sucks a love bite on his navel—Louis is pretty sure he'll wake up covered in them, at the rate Harry's going—before moving farther down, until his mouth is hovering above Louis' cock.

He blows at the head gently, smirking at him when Louis' visibly shivers at the sensation. Then, without warning, he licks a stripe up Louis' shaft and taking him in his mouth.

His mouth is wet and lush and it feels _so fucking good_ that Louis keens, his eyes squeezing shut in pleasure. Harry sinks down until he's got half of Louis' cock in his mouth, and then he doesn't do anything, simply keeps it in his mouth.

What a fucking tease.

"Harry," he gasps, reaching down to pull at his hair, and Harry looks at him wickedly, from beneath his eyelashes, before humming in response. The vibrations don't make him scream, but it's a near thing, and his stomach clenches, trying to stave off his impending orgasm.

Harry hums again, making Louis pull harder at his hair, but he doesn't seem bothered—in fact, Louis thinks he even spots a dimple. The fucking bastard.

He starts tonguing at the vein of Louis' cock, gently scraping his teeth against it, and it makes Louis choke out a sob. He tries to buck up, to get more of his cock into Harry's mouth, but it's no use;  Harry won't budge.

"Please," he sobs, overwhelmed at how good it feels. Harry just hums again, and it's ridiculous, but Louis is so fucking wrecked. Harry's mouth is sinful, his tongue tracing the vein on Louis' shaft, his lips so fucking plush, and he sucks Louis' cock like he was _born_ to do so.

He pulls off a bit, keeping only the head of Louis' cock in his mouth. He hollows his cheeks and swirls his tongue around it, humming, until Louis cries out, pulling at his hair again, Then Harry looks up at him, quirks an eyebrow, and sinks down once more.

This time, he doesn't stop halfway. This time, he goes and he goes until he's got all of Louis' cock in his mouth, until his nose hits bumps Louis' lower stomach, until he can feel the way Harry's throat constricts when he swallows.

Harry stays still for a few, torturous moments, and then he moves, bobbing his head up and down. Louis tries to thrust up but Harry's hands are still there, gripping his hips, refusing to let him move.

"Please," he hears himself babble. His hands are still tangled in Harry's hair and he grips at them, pulling in a way that should be painful. "Please, please, please—"

Harry just continues in his ministrations, taking Louis all the way down and back up. He suckles the head, tonguing at the slit, before sinking down, running his tongue down the length of Louis' shaft. He does it over and over again, until Louis' chest is heaving.

Louis tries to arch up above the bed, but Harry's hands are still pinning him down, keeping him still. And normally, Louis _hates_ being manhandled, hates being told to stay put, but with Harry, it's different. With Harry, Louis doesn't care, can't bring himself to care, not when Harry's sinful mouth is on his cock, sucking as if his life depended on it.

Louis' orgasm takes him by surprise—one second, he's focused on the suction of Harry's lips on his cock, and the next he's spilling down Harry's throat, his mouth open in a silent scream. He feels like he comes for ages, imagines this eternity bleeding into the next, imagines universes and stars expanding and collapsing, and all the while Harry doesn't move, just swallows as the universe shifts and bends around him.

"Fuck you," he manages to get out, his chest heaving. He collapses on the bed, wiping the sweat from his forehead. His hand is shaking. "I'll get you for that."

Harry climbs up, until he's hovering above Louis. There's a spot of pearly white come on the corner of his mouth, and Louis ends up licking it away from him.

Harry's kisses are still intoxicating, even without the haze of lust. He still kisses the way Louis loves to be kissed, thorough and desperate and yet, beneath it all, gentle, always gentle.

Louis lets himself be kissed, lets Harry explore his mouth for a bit. He counts _one, two, three_ , before flipping them over, until Harry is beneath him, his eyes wide.

Louis smirks at him. "Hi," he says, and then he ducks down, nuzzling Harry's stomach. He bites down on Harry's little tummy, relishing at the audible hitch of Harry's breath.

"What are you doing?" Harry's voice is wrecked, shot to hell, and it shouldn't make Louis preen but it does, makes him grin wider against Harry's skin, where he's still lazily sucking a love bite.

He pulls away when he's satisfied. "Returning the favour," he says. He takes a few seconds to admire his the bruise blooming on Harry's pale skin, mentally pats himself on the back, before he's ducking down even further.

He doesn't stop until his lips are hovering above Harry's cock, essentially breathing on it. Harry is _huge—_ Louis doesn't know how he hadn't realized until now. It's long and it's thick and Louis can't help but imagine how it would feel in his mouth, blood-heavy on his tongue. Can't help but imagine Harry thrusting roughly into his mouth, making him choke and gag. Can't help but imagine how it would feel inside him.

That last thought makes Louis' already spent cock throb, and he winces. Maybe next time.

He brushes his lips on the head of it, and judging by the way Harry bucks up suddenly, accidentally smearing pre-come on Louis' lips, he must be close.

"Louis," he says, and Louis thinks he hears a bit of desperation. Louis watches as Harry's stomach muscles tense, then quiver, the purple love bite standing in stark relief against Harry's milky white skin. "Don't tease. Please."

"I'm not teasing," Louis replies, his mouth still centimetres away from Harry's cock. He sticks his tongue out to lick at the head, and Harry groans, throwing his head back and exposing the smooth line of his throat, which, hm, Louis will have to do something about later.

"Louis," he says, his voice breathy, "I—"

He doesn't get to finish, because Louis takes the head of Harry's cock in his mouth and suckles. Harry's moans loudly, fisting his hands against the sheets of the bed, his back arcing up over the bed. His hips stay still, but Louis can how much effort it takes for Harry to control himself, to not fuck up into Louis' mouth.

He pulls away with an obscene pop. Harry groans in frustration. Louis thinks he can see his knuckles turn white from how hard he's gripping the sheets.

"Please, Lou," he begs. "Please just—"

Louis wraps a hand around Harry's cock to make him stop. "Fuck my mouth," he tells Harry, and then he's opening his mouth and taking Harry in.

Harry tastes salty and a little bitter, but Louis ignores it, focusing on hollowing his cheeks and sinking down until he's got half of Harry's cock in his mouth. Harry gives him a few seconds to adjust, before he's thrusting up into Louis' mouth, as best as he can.

It's not long until Harry starts thrusting erratically, and then he's coming into Louis' mouth with a loud whine. It tastes bitter, but Louis doesn't even blink, just swallows it all down as best as he can. He's tasted worse things.

Louis continues to swallow until Harry collapses onto the bed, spent. He doesn't stop even after that, continues licking and sucking Harry's cock until Harry groans and lightly swats him on the head.

"Stop," he says, and Louis rolls his eyes and pulls off. "Get up here."

"As if you weren't begging for it a few minutes ago," Louis snipes, but crawls up the bed until he's hovering over Harry. He winces when he hears how raspy his voice is, how wrecked he sounds, but well, there's nothing he can do about it now, is there?

"But now I'm sensitive," Harry pouts, pulling Louis down, so that Louis is essentially lying on top of him. "Maybe later."

Later. Ha. Harry is probably delusional if he thinks they're going to do this again. Twice was already _way_ too much.

Harry buries his face into Louis' neck, nuzzling at the skin there. He takes a deep breath, and then sighs contentedly, his breath warm, ghosting over Louis' skin.

Louis stays still for all of three seconds. "You're like a child," he points out, trying to wriggle out of Harry's arms. "Let go of me, I'm not your teddy bear."

Harry just tightens his grip. "You're so warm," he says into Louis' skin. "And you smell so good."

Louis is pretty sure he smells horrible right now. He smells of sweat and sex and probably a bit of the practice vault, but Harry's still sniffing him, like he can't get enough of Louis' scent. He's like some sort of hound dog.

He moves to pull away again, and this time Harry lets him go. Louis ends up sitting on Harry's stomach, propping himself up with his hands on Harry's chest.

Harry pouts up at him, and he looks so _ridiculous_ , with his hair messy and sweaty and a little bit frizzy, and his swollen lower lip jutting out exaggeratedly, that Louis can't help but laugh. He reaches up to brush a bit of Harry's hair out of his face, carding a hand through the long curls.

"You look ridiculous."

"I'm tired and it's winter," Harry shoots back, jutting his lower lip even further. That makes him look even more ridiculous, and Louis snorts. "I just want to sleep."

"No one's stopping you from doing that, Harry," Louis replies. Harry just keeps pouting, but this time it's accompanied by him making grabby hands at Louis.

Louis sighs in defeat.

"Fine," He says, leaning down to press a quick kiss on Harry's lips—it makes Harry's dimples pop out immediately. "We'll sleep."

He doesn't wait for an answer, simply scoots down until he can rest his head on Harry's chest. He can hear Harry's heart beating in his ear, strong and steady, and it calms him, makes him realize how tired he actually is.

Harry pulls him closer, drops a kiss into his hair. "Good night," he says, and Louis giggles softly at how he can hear his chest rumble the words. One of his hands ghosts down Louis' back, right above his arse.

Louis yawns. "Move your hand away," he says, biting lightly at Harry's chest. "I'm not that type of boy."

He hears Harry huff out a laugh. "We've already had sex. Twice, I might add."

"And you're delusional if you think it'll happen again," Louis replies, feeling himself sinking deeper and deeper into sleep. Harry's heart beat is just so soothing, and Harry's so warm, and Louis feels so safe, so _protected_   in Harry's arms.

"Okay," Harry says amusedly, like he doesn't believe Louis, and Louis rolls his eyes, before snuggling deeper into Harry's chest and closing his eyes.

(And if he wakes up later and lets Harry rut against him in the bed until they both come, well, that's nobody's business but their own.)

. . .

It's not like Louis was planning on keeping what happened between him and Harry a secret, but it's still kind of unnerving to know that everyone, well, _knows_. He'd come out from the room, messy-haired and bleary-eyed, to find his entire team (bar James) staring at him with a similar smug look. He had blushed and tried to shoulder past them to get to his room, but not before Niall had hugged him and whispered 'congrats on the sex' in his ear.

Well, it's not like they were quiet about it anyway. Plus, there's also the fact that his neck is covered in love bites, making him look he's been attacked by some sort of vampire.

But Harry really, really likes it, judging by the way his eyes turn glassy every time he catches sight of Louis' neck. He also ends up biting his finger, like he's trying to control himself from pouncing, from pinning Louis down and marking him up until Louis' neck is one giant love bite, until nobody can deny that Louis is _his_.

But aside from that (sort of) slight change, everything goes on as normal—they're all still running around, preparing for the heist, they all still keep Harry company, and Louis still goes to feed Harry's cat, whenever he can.

Oh, and they pack. Because even if Harry seems to have wriggled their way into all their hearts (and into Louis' pants), he's still a government agent and they still have to take precautions.

"Are you bringing this?" Zayn asks, tossing Louis a shirt. They're sat on the floor of their shared bedroom, and Zayn's busy trying to sort out his clothes, whereas Louis' just dicking around on his phone. He hasn't got much stuff to pack, anyway. He doesn't really need a lot.

Besides, he can probably always just buy whatever it is he needs. Wasteful, but that's what you do when you have a nine-digit bank account.

Louis picks it up and holds it out in front of him. "I don't think this is mine," he says doubtfully, studying the design of the shirt. He tosses it back to Zayn. "I think that's Liam's."

"I asked him and he said it isn't his either," Zayn says, tossing the shirt aside. "Told me it was yours."

Louis snorts. "Well, it's not," he replies. "I don't even know who the 'Green Bay Packers' are. Give it to Niall, it's probably an Irish thing. Or I think Harry could use a new shirt to wear."

"Speaking of Harry," Zayn says, abandoning his pile of clothes. He moves until he's on his stomach, right next to Louis, and then he props his chin in his hands. He blinks at Louis innocently. "How are you both?"

Louis tries not to laugh at Zayn. "You look ridiculous," he says, quirking an eyebrow. "Like some sixth former waiting for all the gossip."

"I _am_ a sixth former waiting for gossip." Zayn grins, and then continues fluttering his eyelashes. He doesn't change his position, though. "Now tell me."

Louis shifts uncomfortably on the floor. "We're...fine, I guess?" He answers. He shrugs. "We're sort of friends, now."

Actually, they're probably more than friends at this point. They've already kissed. They've had each other's dick in their mouths. Just a while ago Harry had tickled Louis until he cried, and then snogged him until he couldn't breathe.

Zayn must be thinking of the same thing, because he makes a noise, and shifts until he's sitting again, facing Louis. "You are _not_ just friends."

Louis shrugs. "I mean, I don't know, actually. It's not like—it's not something we've discussed. It's not something we _can_ discuss, really."

"Why not?" Zayn demands.

"We just can't," Louis says, looking down at his lap. "He's only going to be here for a few more days, before he returns to society, and, yeah."

"So?" Zayn asks. He looks concerned now, placing a hand on Louis' knee. "Even if he's leaving, you can still talk about it."

Louis sighs. "You don't get it," he says, shaking his head. "It's not like he's leaving to go to work in a different city, or something. He's literally our prisoner. We're thieves and he works for the MI6, and it might be all sunshine and rainbows now, but when he gets back out, it's not going to be like that." He looks at Zayn's hand, focuses on the tattoo at the back of it. "Besides, the only reason he....you know...with me is because he's stuck here. He probably wouldn't even pick me if he had a choice."

There's a pause. Louis can feel Zayn watching him, and he doesn't look up, doesn't dare meet his best friend's eye.

"Okay," Zayn says slowly. "Let's just completely ignore the fact that he approached you in a hotel bar and you guys hooked up three years ago."

"It's different now," Louis insists, lifting his head to look at Zayn. "We've both grown up since then. And it's not going to work now, especially since he knows I'm a thief. Government agents and thieves don't just get together, not in real life at least. He knows his training, and he's  going to rat us out, first chance he gets."

Zayn doesn't say anything for a few long moments. Louis knows that Zayn's thinking, running over Louis' words in his mind. 

Louis doesn't know why Zayn thinks it's so simple. Sure, maybe Louis is attracted to Harry and Harry is attracted to Louis, but they can't just _be_ together. There's so many things involved—this entire kidnapping situation, for one, then there's the entire thing where Louis is a thief. Plus there's the entire Stockholm Syndrome aspect of it. They're just really not supposed to be together, no matter what.

Finally, Zayn speaks. "Why don't you trust him?"

Louis smiles bitterly. "It's not that I don't trust him," he answers quietly. He looks down at his lap again, grips at his right wrist. "It's that I'd trust him with my life, even though I know I'm not supposed to."

 _Even though I know he could fuck me up and destroy everything_ , Louis thinks.

Zayn studies him carefully, his hand still resting on Louis' leg. "I still think you should talk to him about it," he says, his brown eyes kind. "Despite everything. Harry's really great, for everyone but especially for you, and I just don't want to see you throw away something that could be good."

Louis snorts. "You sound like some sort of self-help book."

"But I mean it," Zayn insists. "Harry's really good for you. And you're good for him. I just don't want you throwing all that away."

Louis sighs, and lets Zayn pull him into a hug. "Look, I'll think about it," he says. He leans his head into Zayn's shoulder, and closes his eyes. "I just...it's a fucked up situation, isn't it?"

"It's only as fucked up as you make it out to be," Zayn answers sagely, and Louis rolls his eyes.

. . .

"Do we know what we're watching yet?" Harry whispers into his ear, squeezing into Louis' left side. Louis grunts down at his phone, annoyed at being squished, but he waits until Harry settles before curling around him and resting his head on Harry's shoulder.

"Nope," he answers, still looking down at his phone. He taps at the screen, frowning. "They're still arguing."

Niall had decided to hold a film night, and it had been a great idea for all of five minutes, up until they had to decide the film to watch. Niall says that they have to watch _The Godfather_ , for Harry's sake, Liam argues that they should watch _Batman_ , and Sophia maintains they should watch that Stephen Hawking film starring Eddie Redmayne. Usually, Louis would be right up there with them, arguing about film choices, but he's kind of tired today, what with spending the whole day working on the heist, and this stupid game Nick designed is much more frustrating than he thought it would be.

Harry wraps an arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer. "Still?" He sounds exasperated, and it makes Louis smile down at his phone. "It's been fifteen minutes."

Louis shrugs. "Feels like it's been longer," he mumbles, then groans when he dies in the game. He presses the 'Start Over' button, muttering obscenities under his breath, before attempting to go another round.

He's gotten about a quarter of the way through when Harry taps the screen, making him lose.

"What the hell?" He says, looking up to shoot a glare at Harry.

Harry simply bats his eyelashes, trying to look as innocent as possible. "You weren't paying attention to me," Harry replies, and his mouth twitches, almost as if he's trying his hardest not to break out into a grin.

Louis rolls his eyes, but keeps his phone all the same. "There. Happy?"

"Yep," Harry answers happily, leaning forward to press a kiss on Louis' nose. Louis blinks in surprise, before huffing, giving Harry an accusatory glance.

"I swear, you're the most demanding prisoner ever," Louis grumbles, crossing his arms. He's not really annoyed—in fact, he feels light and airy, almost happy—but he pretends to be, because Harry is needy and distracting. "Just because I'm not paying attention to you for two seconds—"

"I haven't seen you the whole day, Louis," Harry interrupts, grinning. He tightens his arm around Louis' shoulder and Louis wriggles, pulling away.

" _Still_ ," Louis says emphatically, "doesn't mean you can just demand for my attention like that. I mean, we already let you do everything, we let you colour, we let you paint, we let you play monopoly, for fuck's sake, we even let you _bake_ , have you ever heard of a prisoner who's allowed to bake?"

"I'm sure there are some out there," Harry answers cheekily, he pulls Louis closer, and this time Louis allows himself to be pulled into Harry's chest. "I can't be the only one."

"Maybe you can start a club," Louis replies, snuggling closer into Harry's chest. "Or a bakery, for prisoners who bake. You can wear the little orange jumpsuits as you serve your customers."

"Except Sundays," Harry says. He presses a kiss onto the top of Louis' head. "We'll wear the little striped ones on Sundays."

"A thematic Sunday outfit," Louis says approvingly. "Nice. I like it."

Harry buries his face into Louis' hair. "How was your day?'

Louis sighs. "Tiring." He'd spent half the day over at the Jenner casino, double-checking that they were still on track, and then he'd spent the other half of the day running through the practice vault. His muscles are aching and right now, all he really wants to do is lie down and sleep for the next eight hours, but he can't, because of film night. Which isn't even happening right now, because they're all too busy bickering over what film to actually watch.

Harry makes a sympathetic noise. "Do you want to just head on to bed?"

Louis shakes his head. "Niall will get angry at me if I do."

"Well," Harry says conspiratorially, "we can just sneak out right now. No one will notice, they're all too arguing about the film."

Louis opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, there's a pillow hitting him square in the face.

"Don't you even dare think about leaving, Tommo," Niall says, crossing his arms. He's looming over them, looking like some sort of angry blonde teacher. Or he would be, if Niall could get anything close to angry. As it is, he just kind of looks annoyed.

"And you too, Harry," he tacks on, before they can say anything. He huffs, sitting on the floor by their feet, as if to guard them from leaving. "There is _no_ way you two are ditching our first ever Film Night. Bloody love birds, I swear."

Louis makes a noise of protest, but before he can say anything, Niall is shushing him, pointing at the screen. Apparently, the opening credits to _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ are already playing, so Louis just rolls his eyes and leans back on his seat, Harry's arm still around his shoulders.

He watches the film quietly—he's always liked superhero films, and _Captain America_ is no exception. It's only when the Winter Soldier finally shows up on the screen that he leans towards Harry.

"Tragic, innit?"

Harry makes a questioning noise, not tearing his eyes off the telly.

"That, you know, they were in love and now Bucky doesn't remember a thing."

Harry finally turns to look at him. " _Were_ they in love?"

Louis stares at him. "Of course they were," he says, flatly. "Don't be daft, Harry."

Harry shrugs. "Maybe they were just best friends, you know? Best friends can be close, like that."

Louis gapes at Harry and pulls away. "What the fuck," he says heatedly. "There is _no_ way Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes were 'just friends'. Are we watching the same film? The same franchise?"

"Louis—" Harry says, but Louis doesn't let him speak.

"Do you not see the love that's in their eyes every time they so much as _look_ at each other?" He rants, gesturing furiously at the telly. "Do you remember that part, in the first film, where Steve went and saved Bucky? Or when he mourned when Bucky fell off the train? Or how about that time when Steve said that he was with him 'til the end of the line'?"

"Lou," Harry says again, like he's trying to stop himself from bursting out into laughter. He's laughing at _him_ , Louis realizes, but he refuses to let up. He needs to make Harry _understand_ that Steve and Bucky are in love. He doesn't know why Harry can't see it.

"That part," Louis continues, still gesturing to the telly. "The last part, when they're fighting, and Bucky just keeps hitting Steve because he doesn't remember, right, and Steve just lets him, he doesn't even fight back, how can you say they're not in love—"

"Louis' spoiling the film," Nick complains mildly from Louis' right. Louis turns to look at him, finds that Nick isn't even looking at the telly, instead is focused on something on his phone.

"You're not even watching it," Louis accuses, pointing at Nick. "You don't get to complain. Besides, Harry here just doesn't understand that Steve and Bucky are in love—"

"Louis, I get it," Harry says, reaching out to grab at Louis' arm. Louis pulls it away, because he refuses to succumb to that. Not before he establishes that Steve and Bucky are in love.

"Do you?" He asks, and avoids Harry's hands again. "I bet you're still thinking that they're just best friends. Steve and Bucky are in love, Harry, and you're blind if you don't see that—"

Harry manages to grab ahold of one of Louis' wrists, and then he's pulling Louis closer to him and kissing him. Louis relaxes into the kiss immediately, sighing when Harry slips his tongue into Louis' mouth. It's gentle, like how Harry always kisses him, but then Harry does something with his tongue that makes Louis moan.

A few seconds later, they're getting hit by popcorn.

"Get a room," Sophia calls, from where she's sat on the other sofa. Liam's covering his eyes, scandalized, and Zayn is just randomly throwing popcorn at them.

"I can't believe I'm sat next to them," Nick whines. He's staring at his phone, but this time he's just swiping back and forth on the home page. "Are they done? Can I look up now? I'd _really_ rather not see Lou with Harry's tongue in his mouth, thanks."

Louis sniffs. "You're just jealous that you don't have anyone's tongue in your mouth," he says haughtily. "And that you haven't had anyone's tongue in your mouth in years."

"Oi," Nick says indignantly, looking up to glare at Louis. "I'll have you know, I can have someone's tongue in my mouth whenever I want. In fact, Liam, be a dear and snog the living daylights out of me to prove Louis wrong."

Liam looks horrified.

"If you shut up and let me watch the film, Nick," Niall interrupts flatly, not even turning around to look at them. "I'll snog you for as long as you want later. Deal?"

There's a pause.

Eventually, Nick speaks. "Deal," he says happily, before sticking his tongue out at Louis. Louis blows him a raspberry, before snuggling into Harry's chest. Harry presses a kiss on the top of his head, before turning back to watch the film.

Turns out, Nick was being serious, and he and Niall do end up kissing when the film ends. It's kind of awkward, because Nick is putting on a show, trying to make it as passionate as possible, and Niall just keeps laughing, pushing Nick off whenever he gets a bit too handsy.

Louis, of course, gets it all on video. For posterity's sake.

. . .

"He's not my boyfriend," Louis tells Sophia, rolling his eyes, as he goes and stops the timer. He sighs loudly when he catches sight of the time, and runs a hand through his hair. Thirty minutes is a markedly improved time, yes, but it's still not good enough. "We just hang out together a lot."

Sophia quirks an eyebrow. "Louis, you guys _kiss_."

"I've kissed lots of people," Louis argues, wiping the sweat from his fringe. He picks up his water bottle from the table and takes a drink. "I mean, I've kissed Zayn. I've kissed Liam. Doesn't mean they're my boyfriends."

"You cuddle with him all the time," Sophia points out.

"I cuddle with everyone." Louis counters. "I'm tactile like that."

"He holds your hand while you're eating," Sophia continues.

"He _tries_ to," Louis replies darkly. "He has horrible table manners. I've told him, he needs to use both hands to eat."

" Louis," Sophia says gravelly, "Admit it, you're probably dating."

There's a pause.

"What the fuck, _no_ ," Louis says emphatically, shaking his head. "We're just hanging out. There's a difference."

"Which is...?"

"'Hanging out' means spending time with each other," Louis explains, crossing his arms. "'Dating' means _going out_ and spending time with each other. See? One happens outside, in restaurants and parks and ice cream parlours and stuff, and other just happens wherever. _This_ is an example of happening wherever."

Sophia blinks at him. "Why are you always so stubborn?"

"It's part of my natural charm," Louis replies, pretending to flip his hair. He grins at Sophia, who rolls her eyes. Louis can see a small smile on her face, though.

Honestly, why is Sophia even asking about this? Doesn't she have better things to do? Like fixing the practice vault, or going kickboxing or something.

Sophia doesn't say anything for a while, clearly deep in thought. And then, "You know, he obviously really likes you."

Louis blinks at her. "What?"

"He does," she insists, her brow furrowing. "And you obviously really like him."

Louis bristles at that. "No, I don't," he says.

"Yes, you do," she shoots back, placing her hands on her hips. She kind of reminds Louis of his own mother, like this. "I know you, Louis. I know how you get when you like someone."

"How _do_ I get when I like someone?"

"You're loud," Sophia replies, waving a hand. "Really loud, like you want their attention on you at all times. You also get really stubborn, and you pretend to be oblivious, and you try and pick a fight with them, like some emotionally stunted child."

"Harry and I haven't fought," Louis points out. "That renders your argument invalid."

Sophia rolls her eyes. "Just yesterday you got cross at him for not seeing that Steve and Bucky are in love," she enumerates. "The day before that you kept pulling at his hair, even though he repeatedly told you to stop." She pauses. "Oh, and a while ago at lunch you told him that he should quit his job because the government is shit, anyway, and—"

"Okay," Louis interrupts. His face feels hot, but he refuses to pay any mind to it. "I get it. You've made your point. I obviously like him. A breakthrough in scientific discovery. Well done, Sophia. Eureka, or whatever. Can we go back to practicing now?"

Sophia crosses her arms, obviously signalling that she's not done yet. "Why don't you want to talk about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about," Louis replies, frustrated. He runs a hand through his hair angrily. "In case you weren't aware, we're holding him _prisoner_ , Sophia. This entire thing between me and Harry won't last."

He doesn't know why saying that makes his heart feel like it's breaking, splintering into many different pieces. He hasn't even known Harry long, certainly not long enough to warrant heartbreak, of all things.

But his heart has always been a crazy, stubborn little thing that feels  far too much than what Louis allows it to.

"I think it will," Sophia challenges. "He looks at you like you hung the stars, Louis. You look at him like he's the entire universe in a person. Around him you're different. It's like he changes you."

Louis blinks at her. "He changes me," he repeats softly.

"He does," Sophia confirms, her voice still gentle. "And it's good, actually. He makes you better. More relaxed. Happier."

And Louis knew that. Knew that there was something about Harry that made him smile more, that made him less tense. He knew that Harry makes him feel like throwing all caution to the wind, makes him want to let go.

 He didn't know that it was evident to other people, though.

"I honestly think you should talk to him," Sophia says. "Normally, I wouldn't be bothering you about what you do or who you sleep with, but this is different." She takes a deep breath. "There's just, there's _something_ between you two. Something that comes very rarely, and I just don't want to see you give that up, Louis."

Louis swallows. "I'll think about it." He says softly then clears his throat. "Can I go back to practicing now, please?"

. . .

"Lou," he hears Harry say, just as he's on the edge of sleep. "Hey, move over a bit."

"No," Louis grumbles, but he shifts so he's only occupying one side of the bed. He feels Harry climb in beside him, and he scoffs loudly, nuzzling into the pillow and pulling all the blankets towards him. He's cold, and Harry can freeze to death, for all he cares.

He hears Harry mutter something unflattering under his breath, and before he can open his mouth to berate him, he feels an arm snaking around his waist. Harry pulls him closer to him, until his chest is touching Louis' back, and rearranges the blankets with his other hand, until it's covering the both of them, and they're both warm and toasty.

Louis sighs in contentment, and snuggles closer to Harry. He hears Harry let out a laugh.

"You know, if you wanted to be cuddled, you could've just asked," he says, pressing a kiss to the back of Louis' head.

Louis tries not to grin too wide. "Where's the fun in that?"

Harry sighs. "You're ridiculous," he says, and it sounds fond, so fond, that it makes Louis' heart thump happily in his chest. It's nice.

Actually, this entire thing with Harry is nice. They've been spending a lot of time with each other, and despite them not having talked about whatever it is they're doing together, they don't seem to be too bothered. They cuddle and tease each other, and Harry makes Louis feel safe and protected. With Harry, he feels like he doesn't have to always be in control. With Harry, Louis feels like he can relax.

They've also kissed a lot—Harry kisses Louis every chance he gets—and Louis now spends his nights in Harry's bed. Louis likes waking up with Harry's face buried in his neck and his arms wrapped tightly around Louis, like he's afraid Louis will leave while he's asleep. It's all very domestic and nice, and Louis could get used to this, waking up in Harry's arms. It makes a warmth bubble up in Louis' chest, spreading to all crevices of his body until he feels light, airy, and so full of fondness for everything and everyone.

"So," Harry starts, bringing Louis out of his thoughts. He shifts behind Louis and tightens his grip on Louis' waist, as if trying to lock Louis down, trying to ensure that he doesn't move away. "When's Fight Night?"

Louis feels himself tense up at the thought. "The thirteenth," he tells Harry slowly, suddenly realizing how close it already is. The thirteenth is in _a week_.

Fuck, seven days. Seven days and Louis hasn't yet gotten his time down to the ideal fifteen minutes, hasn't yet figured out what to do with random number generator lock. Now that he's thinking about it, Niall hasn't had much progress on that front, and he has to help. Maybe he can go to the Jenner casino tomorrow to investigate, or something, then he'll go through the practice vault again tomorrow and—

Harry bites gently at his earlobe. "I can feel you panicking," he murmurs in Louis' ear. "Relax. It's fine."

Louis swallows, but forces himself to relax in Harry's arms. "Is that your master plan?" He tries to tease, but it comes out strained. He takes a deep breath, and tries again. "Getting me to relax so I don't push through with the heist?"

Harry though, simply chuckles at his accusation. "Yep," he answers. "You've caught me. Good job." He presses another kiss to Louis' neck, this time lightly grazing the spot with his teeth. Louis shivers.

"It wasn't that hard," Louis says, moving his head to give Harry more access. Harry's lips are plush, and they feel so, so nice on Louis' neck. "Your plan was shit, mate. I'd suggest coming up with a new one."

"Mmm," Harry hums into Louis' skin, before sucking a bruise on his neck. "I've got plenty of plans left, don't worry."

They fall silent after that, Harry laving over the bruise with his tongue and pressing kisses wherever he can reach. Louis can feel Harry getting affected, can feel the way Harry's cock is stirring up, pressing against his arse. He sucks in a breath, waits for Harry to do something—to rut against him, maybe, or sneak a hand under his shirt—but Harry stays still, just continuing to press kisses and bite at the skin of Louis' neck.

They haven't had sex since that night, and at right now, Louis doesn't exactly remember why. He _wants_ ; he can feel himself stirring in his boxers, can feel himself melting into Harry's arms. He wants Harry to touch him, to wrap a hand around his cock, to jerk him off until Louis is screaming. He wants Harry to make him come, to fuck him so good he forgets everything he needs to do.

He pushes his arse back, trying to rub his arse against Harry's erection, but Harry doesn't react, simply tightens his grip on Louis' waist and tries to hold him still. His mouth is still leaving marks against Louis' skin, and Louis actually moans when Harry bites, sucking another love bite on to his neck.

Harry pulls off when he's satisfied. "Hey," he says, his voice rough. His mouth grazes the outer shell of his ear, . "Do you want to try something?"

"Try what?" Louis asks breathily. Harry's cock is just _there_ , huge and hard, and Louis really wants to feel it inside him.

Harry doesn't reply immediately, which makes Louis even more curious. He shifts on the bed, turning until he's face-to-face with Harry. Harry looks unsure, his bottom lip bitten between his teeth, and Louis is reminded of that time he wanted to bake cupcakes on his birthday.

He places a hand on Harry's face. "Try what?" He asks gently, ignoring the way he's hard in his boxers. He can deal with that later.

Harry takes a deep breath. "You don't have to, if you don't want to," he replies. "It's just an idea. I just want to help you relax."

"You are helping," Louis tells him, stroking a thumb at the high point of his cheekbone. He smiles when Harry presses a kiss onto his palm. "And I'm up for it. Whatever it is."

"Are you sure?" Harry asks skeptically. "You don't even know what it is, yet."

"But I know you won't hurt me," Louis argues. "I trust you."

And he knows he shouldn't trust Harry like this, shouldn't make it explicitly clear that he does, but fuck it. He's got nothing to hide, anymore. Harry's seen everything, has seen Louis at his best and at his worst and he's still here, treating Louis with fondness and gentleness.

If anything, there are worse people than Harry to put his trust in.

. . .

Louis shifts uncomfortably, trying to breathe normally as he feels the vibrator press against his prostate. When Harry had suggested an activity to help him relax, he hadn't really been expecting this, but, well.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Harry asks. He's got the remote in his hand, and he looks very unsure. "We can stop, if you don't want to."

"No, no, it's fine." He shifts again, trying to get used to the feeling of the vibrator in his arse. It's a bit strange, especially since Louis hasn't had anything up there in quite a long time, too busy with everything else that's been going on, but he's fine. "I'm fine. Besides, I like a good challenge."

Harry snorts. "Only you would think of this as a challenge."

Louis raises an eyebrow. "Is it not a challenge?" It definitely sounded like one when Harry had brought out the vibrator, which he got from God-knows-where (Niall probably bought it for him) and said, _maybe you could try going through the vault with this?_

Harry crosses his arms. "It was a _suggestion_ , Lou."

" _Which_ , if you didn't notice, Harry, I'm taking." He mimics Harry's position, cocks a hip out and takes a deep breath as he feels the vibrator against his prostate. "Besides, I'd been getting pretty bored with it. Maybe this'll help rekindle the spark."

Harry bursts out laughing. "You're making it sound like you and the practice vault have some sort of lacklustre marriage."

"Hey," Louis says, affronted. "I'll have you know the practice vault and I have a perfectly healthy sex life, thank you very much. We just have to spice it up a little."

Harry's eyes sparkle in amusement. "Whatever you say."

Louis rolls his eyes. "I don't have time to defend my sex life to people like you," he scoffs, but there's a grin pulling at the corner of his lips. Bloody Harry Styles and his bloody charm. "Now, do I just go or what?"

"Wait," Harry says. He steps forward, cupping Louis' face in his hands, then leans down and brushes his lips against Louis'. "A kiss, for good luck."

Louis  blinks at him. "You _do_ know I'm just going like, fifty metres away right?"

"Yeah," Harry answers. "But I think you're going to need it." He has a smug look on his face, like he's planning something. Louis narrows his eyes at him but takes a step back, rubbing his hands and preparing to go through the vault. His cock is only half-hard in his trousers, and he can ignore that, easy.

He makes it through the first few security features Liam and Sophia designed, fairly quickly. It's a bit difficult, what with the vibrator pressing against his prostate when he so much as moves, but he just grits his teeth and focuses. It's nothing he can't handle.

It starts going to shit when he reaches the little gate separating the practice vault from the other security features.

It has a pretty basic lock, one that Louis can pick with his eyes closed. He's feeling pretty confident as he brings out his materials, squatting down to get a good look at the lock.

And then Harry turns it on.

Louis jumps in shock, letting out a surprised moan at the stimulation on his prostate. He can feel the blood rushing to his cock, can feel himself hardening in his sweatpants. He reaches down and adjusts himself, then grits his teeth and gets back to work. It's a lot harder to ignore the vibrator now, especially when Louis can hear the faint buzzing sound, but Louis tries his best to ignore it, tries to focus on picking the lock on the little gate.

Once he's through, he lets the door swing shut behind him, and comes face to face with the practice vault. He immediately starts on one of the locks on the practice vault, trying to ignore the thumping of his heart and the arousal in his veins. He knows Harry is watching him, can feel his gaze boring into his back, and the thought makes him shiver run down his spine. It's kind of hot, actually—Harry watching him while he practices stealing from a vault with a vibrator up his arse—and he doesn't know when the things that arouse him became something as strange as this, but he'll complain about it later.

The vibrator suddenly starts moving faster, inside Louis, and Louis moans again, feeling his heart speed up. He closes his eyes; he can feel the flush on his cheeks, can feel the beginning of a sweat on his forehead, beneath his fringe. Can feel the delicious, heat building, coiling in his belly. His hand, he notes, has started shaking imperceptibly, and he takes a deep breath, tries to focus on nothing but the vault in front of him.

He fails because Harry turns the speed setting up.

He clenches his hands into fists, before shakily lifting a hand to flip Harry off over his shoulder. Two speed settings consecutively is _not_ fair. He hears Harry chuckle, and the sound of his voice resonates inside Louis, washes over him in waves and makes him much more turned on than he was before. Suddenly, he's aching to touch Harry, aching to scream 'fuck it' and throw himself at Harry, let Harry spread him out and fuck him until he screams, until he's coming, hard.

And he knows, that's what Harry wants. Harry wants to see Louis break control, wants to see him unable to think straight, unable to think logically, wants to see him lost in a haze of lust and arousal. And Louis wants to, he really does, but it's no fun if he just throws in the towel right away, isn't it? He wants to _fight_ it.

So he sets his jaw and focuses on the first lock he has in front of him. It's a state-of-the-art electronic lock, one of those that Louis' broken into a hundred times before. It's no different now, he tells himself. It doesn't matter that there's a vibrator pounding against his prostate and a really pretty guy back there somewhere, watching Louis, it's nothing different. Grace under pressure.

His hands shake and it takes him much longer than he usually does, but he does manage to get through. The second one is a lock with a facial recognition biometric system, and Louis _knows_ how to do this, he does—he's been practicing with Zayn and Nick and Sophia and Liam—but he temporarily forgets when Harry turns the speed setting up, again. He's acutely aware of it now, the way the vibrator is pulsing against his prostate, can hear the loud buzz in his ears. He's flushed all over—his shirt feels sticky with sweat—and Louis takes a deep breath, tries to compose himself. He wipes a hand through his forehead, and presses a palm to his crotch, sighing softly in relief, before continuing his task.

He manages to get through it, and then the next one, and then the vault door is swinging open. He slips inside, waits until the vault door closes, effectively locking him inside.

He exhales. He's gotten through that, at least.

Now that he's inside, he has to practice breaking out, so he gets to work, trying to find the panels he needs. He finds them fairly quickly, wrenching them open, studying the wires that criss-cross and tangle with each other. He tries to focus, tries to remember which wire is which and what to do, but it's hard when his brain is foggy with lust, with arousal, with images of being spread out underneath Harry, feeling his huge cock inside him.

He shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts—a useless feat, because Harry turns the speed up. Louis whines, leans against the wall, and sticks a hand down his trousers and wraps it around his cock. He squeezes the base gently, biting his lower lip—he can't come, not yet—and breathes deeply, trying to calm himself down. The tip of it is already so wet with precome, and Louis can't help it as he uses that to slick his shaft up and stroke himself once, twice, thrice, just for some sense of relief.

He feels hot all over, feels like ripping all his clothes off and lying on the cool ground of the safe, the vibrator still going wild inside him. Feels like calling Harry, begging him to just fuck him, but doing that is giving up and Louis isn't a quitter. If he's going to end up losing anyway, then he's going to go down with a fucking fight.

He forces himself to let go of his cock, pushes himself off the wall, and gets to work. It's hard, because his hands are shaking and his fingers are clumsy and _Harry keeps turning the fucking speed up, what the fuck, how many speed settings are there_ , but he continues, determined to succeed. He needs to do this, needs to get through this.

His cock is painful now, and he can't ignore it, but Louis tries to, tries to focus on the task at hand. Eventually he manages to get it right, and then the power is shutting down, the door unlocking. Louis tries to walk, his knees buckling on the first few steps, but he manages to catch himself. He uses the wall to support himself, uses it to help him stumble weakly out the practice vault.

Harry's there when Louis gets out, and he catches Louis when Louis' collapses, gasping for breath. The vibrator is still pounding at his prostate, at some speed level Louis can't even _comprehend_ , and Louis doesn't even hesitate, simply buries his face into Harry's neck and whines, "Fuck me."

He jumps, wrapping his legs around Harry's waist, and moans loudly when the vibrator jostles inside him. Harry manages to support his weight, and then he's moving to press Louis gently against the wall, his mouth on Louis' neck.

"Fuck," he breathes, and Louis whines at how turned on he sounds. "You're so fucking hot, Lou, I—"

He breaks off and sucks a mark on Louis' neck, and Louis moans, rutting against Harry. Harry's hard, Louis can feel his cock digging into his hip, and fuck, he wants, he _really_ wants that inside him.

"Harry," he tries to say. His tongue feels swollen, like it's too big for his mouth, and he doesn't know if Harry understands him. "Harry, please."

"I've got you," Harry murmurs into his neck, still marking him up. His mouth is _scorching_ , brushing against Louis' neck, and Louis tilts his head back, giving Harry more access. "I've got you, baby."

 _Baby_. That _really_ shouldn't be hot, but it Louis would be lying if that didn't go straight into his cock. He's so turned on he can't think straight, can't do anything but arch up against Harry and moan.

He feels like he's burning—like his skin is made of embers and flames. He burns where Harry touches him, he burns where Harry _isn't_ touching him, feels like he's been set ablaze by nothing but fingertips and kisses.

Harry's hand sneaks underneath the back of Louis' shirt and travels down, until it brushes where the end of the vibrator is sticking out. Louis jumps in surprise, and the movement makes their clothed cocks brush together, makes Harry moan into where he's still sucking a mark into Louis' skin.

"Please," Louis says again, unable to say anything else. He can't think straight, can't see anything underneath the fog of arousal that's covering his brain. "Please."

Harry takes pity on him, and then his hands are on the waistband of Louis' sweats, pulling them down. Louis' cock springs free, and he hisses when the cold air hits it.

He feels Harry pinch the end of the vibrator with two long fingers, and Louis sighs as he slowly pulls at it, the vibrator sliding out easily.

"I'm gonna fuck you, okay, baby?" Harry murmurs, low into his ear. Louis shivers.

"Please," he murmurs back, and Harry continues pulling it out, until he's got nothing but the tip inside Louis.

And then he thrusts it back in.

Louis gasps in surprise, burying his face into Harry's neck, trying to muffle the sound. The vibrator buzzes against his prostate, and he clenches around it.

"You okay?" Harry asks, his voice gentle, soothing. Louis tries to focus on it. "You want me to stop?"

Louis shakes his head. "No," he sobs, his hands clutching tightly on Harry's back as Harry pulls the vibrator out and thrusts it into Louis again. "No,  don't stop, _please_."

"Shh, baby," Harry soothes, "it's okay, you're fine." He does it again, building up a rhythm, and Louis keens. He wraps one of his hands around his cock, jerking himself off in time to the thrust of the vibrator in him. It's kind of rough, the glide not as smooth as it should be, but it doesn't matter. He wants to come, badly.

On the next thrust, Harry twists the vibrator when it's all the way in, and Louis screams, too overwhelmed at the buzzing and the way it moves, the way Harry is making it move, inside him. Harry does it again and again, and, pushing it all the way into Louis and twisting it, and Louis can't do anything but clench around it and jerk himself off faster.

"God, look at you," Harry sounds breathless, and Louis whines, unable to respond. "You're so—you're the prettiest thing I've ever _seen_."

He's still thrusting the vibrator relentlessly, pushing it deeper and deeper into Louis, and Louis can't do anything but take it, can't do anything but close his eyes and jerk himself off faster. "So beautiful like this, baby," Harry's still talking right into Louis' ear, his breath hot on the side of Louis' neck. "So, so gorgeous. If it were up to me, I'd keep you like this, all flushed and sweaty and so _fucking gorgeous—_ "

"Harry," Louis gasps. He's so, so close now; he can feel the heat in his belly building, threatening to spill out at any moment. "Harry, _please_."

"I'd keep you full too," Harry continues. He's still fucking the vibrator into Louis relentlessly. "Stuffed full with this vibrator. And then, when you were absolutely gagging for it—" he pulls the vibrator out then pushes it all the way in, until the end disappears into Louis' hole, "—I'd fucking _wreck_ you."

Louis comes with a scream, shooting ribbons of come all over his hand and over Harry's shirt. Harry kisses him, bites at his bottom lip until it's raw and bleeding, until his mouth is stained red, the evidence of Harry's mouth on his. Louis can't think, can't think, can't breathe—all he can do is close his eyes and feel how the heat spreads all over his body; all he can do is let himself burn.

It's a while before he comes back to his senses, and when he does, he's slumped against Harry, his face buried into the junction between Harry's shoulder and neck. Harry is pressing gentle kisses on the top of his head, murmuring soothing words into Louis' skin, and the vibrator is still on, buzzing inside Louis' sensitive hole.

He winces, then pinches Harry where he can reach. "Take it out."

Harry chuckles, and Louis feels the vibrations where they're touching. "Welcome back." He does as he's told, though, and then soon, the vibrator is out of his hole and tossed aside, and Louis is being lowered onto the floor, Harry's arm around his waist to keep him steady.

"Ready for bed?" Harry asks, laughing as Louis yawns, burying his face into Harry's shoulder. He feels so nice, right now—like he's light and airy and content and safe, and going to bed sounds like a great idea right now.

Or, well, it would be, if Harry wasn't still hard in his sweats. Louis knows he can be mean sometimes, but he's not exactly _heartless_.

He doesn't say anything at first, letting Harry lead him out of the garage and all the way into their room. Harry cleans him up with his stained sleep shirt, and then makes him lie down on the bed, before placing the covers over him like he's some toddler being put down for naptime. It's only when Harry climbs onto the bed, does Louis wriggle out of the covers, moving so that he's on top of Harry.

"Louis," Harry says exasperatedly. "I thought we were going to sleep?"

Louis shifts, until he can feel Harry's cock digging into his hip. He's still hard, Louis notes happily, and Louis reaches down, presses a palm onto his crotch area.

Harry exhales loudly, through his nose. "You don't have to, you know."

Louis rolls his eyes. "I'm not heartless, Harry."

He doesn't give Harry a chance to respond, simply sticks his hand down Harry's sweats and curls a hand around his cock. Harry tenses up beneath him, his muscles coiling, and Louis can see the beginnings of a flush on his face and neck.

Which reminds him.

He ducks down and bites at the junction between Harry's neck and shoulder, sucking a mark onto it. Harry moans, and his hips buck up into Louis' hand.

Louis smirks into Harry's skin, and licks over his mark. He starts moving his hand slowly, up and down Harry's shaft, and preens when Harry moans quietly.

He speeds up the movement of his hand. The tip of Harry's cock is so wet, and Louis uses that to slick up the shaft, making the glide smoother. Harry moans again, and one of his hands is trailing down to rest onto Louis' arse, big and warm.

"You really can't keep your hands off, can you?" Louis chuckles, jerking him off. He twists his hand when he gets to the tip, making Harry gasp quietly.

"Can't blame me," Harry replies breathlessly. He's flushed now, the beginnings of a sweat forming on his temples, his skin and neck flushed. His other hand makes its way to Louis' arse as well, and he squeezes, kneading it in his hands. "You have a gorgeous arse."

"Hm," Louis acknowledges, cocking his head. He uses his thumb to tease at the tip, brushing against the slit. "I would, you know."

"Would what?" Harry's breathing is erratic now, and his hips are shifting beneath Louis, thrusting up into Louis' hand. Louis jerks him off faster, and presses a filthy kiss onto his lips.

"Let you wreck me," Louis says conversationally, when they pull away. Harry's gasping beneath him, writhing against the sheets. His hands are gripping into Louis' arse hard enough that he's sure it'll leave bruises, and it makes him giddy. "I'd let you put it in me, you know? Let you fuck me as hard as you want, let you bite and bruise me and mark me, wherever you want."

"Louis," Harry gasps. There's sweat dripping down his neck, pooling at the hollow of his throat, and Louis leans down and licks at it. It's salty on his tongue, but Louis doesn't mind. "Don't tease."

"I'm not," Louis answers, chuckling a bit. "I'd let you hold me so hard that I get bruises that last for a week. I'd let you suck love bites wherever you want, because God knows you like having things in your mouth for you to suck at." He presses two fingers into Harry's mouth and immediately Harry latches on, sucking at them. "See?"

Harry moans, around his fingers.

"I'd let you pin me down and fuck me until I cry," Louis continues. Harry's close, Louis can tell by the way he's squirming, bucking up into Louis' hand erratically. He moves his hand faster, enjoying the way Harry seems to be falling apart beneath him. "I'd even let you take _control_."

And that's enough to send Harry over the edge, to make him arch up and come, spilling into Louis' hand. Louis jerks him off through it, until Harry is collapsing on the bed, loose-limbed and spent.

When he speaks, his voice is gravelly. "Ugh, I have to change my shirt _again_."

"Here's an idea," Louis says, crawling off Harry. He quickly takes off his own come-stained shirt, and helps Harry out of his. "Let's just sleep without a shirt."

"It might be cold," Harry replies, but he's already pulling the covers over him and snuggling into them. He looks like a burrito, like this. A sleepy, soft, long-haired, pretty burrito.

"Then we'll cuddle," Louis answers, pulling at the blankets until Harry relents and gives him some. "Duh."

He snuggles underneath the blanket and presses against Harry, wrapping his arms around him. Harry is warm against Louis, and Louis sighs in contentment and snuggles closer. "See?"

"But you're cold," Harry complains. He doesn't move away though, simply lets Louis cuddle him and press his cold feet between his shins. "I feel cheated."

"Shut up, you," Louis snarks. He presses a kiss onto Harry's chin, and sees Harry smile sleepily in response. "Bed time."

"Bed time," Harry echoes. He snuggles closer into Louis, and Louis hums and closes his eyes.

And right at the precipice of sleep, he can't help but think, that maybe, just maybe, it should always be like this, should always be him in Harry's arms, warm and sleepy and content.


	4. Chapter 4

It's Sophia's birthday a few days later, and Harry takes it upon himself to cook all her favourite dishes. Louis tries to help, but after a few minutes, Harry deems him hopeless and sends him off to do something else. He ends up seated by the kitchen table, throwing things at Harry. Harry manages to avoid most of them, but every time Louis manages to hit him, he pouts and demands a kiss.

They do manage to get the food done in time for dinner, and Sophia gasps in surprise when she sees them all laid out on their dining table. Harry had gone the extra mile and plated them, so the result is some sort of five-star looking, gourmet dishes that look absolutely mouth-watering. They taste brilliant too, and it's not long before all the dishes are wiped clean, and all of them are seated on the dining room in some sort of food coma.

Harry brings out the birthday pie he'd baked for her (because Sophia hadn't wanted birthday cake, not after the monstrosity that was Harry's birthday) and they all sing her Happy Birthday, loudly and completely off-key, as usual. Sophia keeps her face buried in her hands for most of it, but Louis can tell she's enjoying it, her shoulders shaking with laughter.

It's when they're eating it that Nick, who's been uncharacteristically quiet all throughout the celebration, drops his fork onto the floor and shouts, "Pie!"

Everyone turns to blink at him.

"Pie...?" James asks, his fork mid-air.

"Pie," Nick nods, grinning maniacally.

"Uh, yes, this is pie," Louis replies, gesturing to the food on his plate somewhat confusedly. "I thought we'd already established that."

"No, no." Nick shakes his head, still looking manic. "Not pie. _Pie_."

"...I'm honestly lost," Liam admits,  his brow furrowed. Louis can relate—Nick seems to be speaking in a language that's only made up of the word 'pie'.

Nick's eyes dart to every person in the room, and then he's rolling his eyes, pushing himself up from the chair and leaving the room. He comes back with his laptop, plopping it down onto the kitchen table and beginning to type frantically.

"I've figured it out," he explains, not looking up from his computer. "The random number generator. The solution is pie."

In a flash, James is standing up from his chair, making his way over to where Nick is seated. "Explain," he demands, crouching down to look at the screen.

"I can't shut down the random number lock from the outside," Nick starts, still typing frantically on his computer. "And there's no luck on the keyfob front, is there Niall?"

"Nope," Niall replies. He sounds dejected, and he stands as well, pushing his plate of pie away from him. "I can keep trying, though?"

"You don't need to," Nick says. He's still typing, his eyes darting back and forth, like he's reading something particularly interesting. "I've got a solution. It's pie."

"What?" Sophia asks incredulously. "This doesn't involve throwing my birthday pie onto the safe, does it? If it does, I'll be very cross with you, Nick Grimshaw."

Nick laughs. "Rest assured, Sophia, your pie is safe." He makes a triumphant noise, and then he's grinning, pointing something out at James. James still has his brow furrowed, reading through whatever it is on Nick's laptop.

Louis can't take it anymore. "Well?" He demands. "Explain it."

Nick rolls his eyes. "Always so impatient, Tomlinson. It's like this." He leans forward. "We can't shut down the lock, nor do we have the keyfob. What I _may_ be able to do, however, is hack the number lock."

Louis' jaw drops. Beside him, Harry straightens up, his muscles tensing. His eyes are alert, like he's gone onto government agent mode.

"Why didn't you tell us this earlier?" Louis demands.  He stands up, and makes his way to where Nick and James are still looking at the computer.

"There was no point," Nick says, waving a hand. "I could hack it, sure, but if I changed it to something simple, everyone would know that someone was trying to steal the safe. Besides, it would've changed in the next two minutes."

"So what?" Louis asks. James is still worryingly silent beside Nick, his eyes trained onto the computer screen.

" _So_ ," Nick says, "I'm going to rewrite the code. Program it, so that the code _seems_ random, but it's actually not. It'll be something we can actually predict."

Beside him, James' eyes widen, and he makes a noise of understanding. "Pie," he says, wondrously, and then he's grinning, punching a fist in the air and whooping.

Louis is still lost. And so are the others, judging by their facial expression. "What does pie have to do with anything?"

"Pie," Nick answers, "is _everything_. Think of it this way, Louis: I need a number. The number I need is irrational, meaning they look like a bunch of random digits, _and_ they're never ending."

"I don't know," Louis answers, irritated. He really doesn't like not understanding anything. "You could create that number, you know? Get a bunch of random digits and string them together."

"Ah," Nick says, "but that makes it difficult for us. We're going to have to create a really big number that seems random, and it'll be hard to code the number we created. This number, though. You know, a very common irrational number, used to solve for the area of a circle and whatnot—" he pauses, for dramatic effect, "—pie!"

Pie. _Pi_. Fuck. It dawns on Louis the same time Sophia gasps from somewhere behind him.

"You're going to hack the number generator to spit out pi!" She exclaims delightedly, standing up to take a peek. "Nick, that is fucking _genius_."

Nick preens at that. "I try, Soph."

"You can do that?" Liam asks, awed, and then he's standing, making his way over to look at Nick's tiny laptop screen. Zayn stands as well, moving behind Louis. He places a hand on Louis' elbow, and then leans down to look into Nick's laptop.

"This is brilliant," James says excitedly. "Absolutely brilliant." He extracts himself from the group, and claps his hands, calling the attention of the room onto him. "We obviously still need to prepare for this change of plans, but," he grins, sharp and eager, "we might just pull this heist off after all."

Their team cheers, and Louis sneaks a glance at Harry, who doesn't seem to have moved at all. He's looking straight ahead, tense and unsure. Louis knows that it's difficult for him—to be in the presence of criminals, of _thieves_ planning to steal and not being able to do anything about it. He knows that right now, it's going against all of Harry's training, going against every molecule in his body to just sit there, to let them continue doing what they're doing.

He wonders if Harry's going to do something.

As if on cue, Harry reaches out, grabs the knife they used to cut the slices of pie. He's still not looking at Louis, and Louis watches as the metal of the knife glints under the harsh fluorescent, watches as Harry turns the knife over in his hands slowly, clearly contemplating. He watches as Harry uses a thumb to brush the crumbs off the knife's edge, wipes the whipped cream off with a finger. And then he looks up, straight at Louis.

Louis holds his breath. He could do it. He could make a break for it, run out and tell everyone what their team is going to do. He could make a hasty escape right now; no one would notice him. He could grab someone—Niall, maybe—and hold the knife to their throat, the way he wanted to, all those weeks ago. The way he told Louis he wanted to, back when they weren't anything but a mistake to each other. He could grab Louis and hold the knife to his throat, betray him all over again, like nothing's changed, like it's still three years ago and Louis' still the thief he'd caught and handcuffed onto the bed.

He could. He might still do it.

And then Louis watches as something shifts in Harry's eyes, watches as his shoulders slump, watches as Harry sets the knife gently, onto his plate, and lets go of the handle.

. . .

It's madness, after that.

Everyone's running around preparing for the heist with newfound vigour. Nick takes to bringing his laptop everywhere, coding and recoding and programming and doing God-knows-what on it. The reprogramming of the number lock is what's important, and everyone waits with baited as Nick works on it furiously. Sophia tries to help, pointing out some things on the code that Louis still can't understand, but for the most part, everyone lets Nick do his thing.

Niall goes back to the hotels, making sure everything is in order for their heist. They're going to grab the money and run, which is a risky plan, sure, but it's the most efficient one. They haven't got time to transfer it slowly over the course of the night, they need to grab all of it (or as much as they can) in one go.

Louis practices, most of the time. He goes through the vault until the motions are as easy as breathing, until he can do everything with his eyes closed. Even when he's doing something else, he constantly runs the motions in his mind, visualizing everything that he needs to do. He's a bit nervous, but it's the good kind—the one that constantly keeps him on edge and makes sure that he's going to do everything _right_ on the heist itself.

The one downside is that he hardly sees Harry. With everyone running around preparing for the heist, no one has the time to let him out of his room unless it's for meals, nor does anyone have the time to spend time with him in his room. Louis actually sort of misses him—he wants to see how he's doing, wants to hear his horrible puns and see his horrible crayon drawings. Wants to cuddle against Harry again, wants to lay his head down his chest and hear the steady, calm beating of his heart. Wants to feel Harry press kisses wherever he wants to again, be it Louis' nose or his eyelids or the inside of his wrist or on his mouth itself.

He tries not to think about it, tries to just focus on the heist. Thinking about it leads to feeling guilty about it, leads to wanting to do something about it, leads to realizing that maybe, just maybe, he's a little bit over his head when it comes to Harry. That maybe, he's in too deep. That maybe, he likes Harry _way_ more than he should.

It's the day before the heist when Nick sighs, leans back, and finally tears his eyes away from the laptop. "I think I've got it."

James is there in a flash, looking over the codes. "You think?"

Nick nods. "It looks to be working perfectly, here, but I can't be sure."

"What do you mean you can't be sure?" Louis asks, his brow furrowed. He crosses his arms.  "We _need_ this to work, Nick."

"I know, Louis, I know," Nick snaps. "But we can't bloody well test it, can we? We don't have the time. Fight Night is tomorrow, already."

Louis takes a deep breath. His hands are shaking, he notes distantly—he clenches them into fist in an attempt to make them stop. It's just nerves. He's just nervous.

"What if it doesn't work?" Louis asks, when he thinks his voice is level enough. "What are we going to do?"

"It will," James says, optimistic. "Nick's a good programmer."

"But what if something goes wrong?" Louis asks. He takes another deep breath, letting the air sit in his lungs for a bit. He hates that he sounds so nervous, hates that his voice sounds timid and small. He needs to calm down.

"Then we make a run for it," James replies. "If it doesn't work, then we leave. And we plan our next heist." He claps Nick on the back. "But I feel confident about this."

"Louis, I created an app that will flash the digits of pi that should unlock the safe," Nick tells him, clicking around on the computer again. "All you have to do when you get there is input the number that shows up as the code."

"Okay," Louis nods, trying to take it all in. An app, with the code. Okay. That's not hard at all. "That's it?"

"That's it," Nick confirms. He closes the top of his laptop, and leans back, sprawling out on his seat. "God but am I tired."

James laughs. "Good work, Nick." He looks at Louis, his gaze serious. "Are you ready for tomorrow?"

Louis swallows slowly. "I think so, yeah." He's pretty sure he's got everything he needs to do memorized, pretty sure he knows exactly what to do tomorrow evening. Hell, he's even got his stuff packed, because the instant they get out of the safe they're moving to a new safe house, a new headquarters. He's as ready as he'll ever be, all that's left is just to do it.

"Good," James says, a small smile on his face. "You're my best thief. I trust you, Louis, even though you fuck up at times."

Louis lets out a weak chuckle. "My last fuck up wasn't so bad," he tells James. "It brought us Harry."

Polite, charming gentle Harry, with the curly hair and two dimples. Who bakes all kinds of things and gives them to everyone. Who makes everyone laugh; who really lifts the mood of the entire house with his horrible jokes and bad puns. Who's got a cat who he loves so much, who Louis is sort of growing really attached to. Who makes Louis feel relaxed, safe, content—like he doesn't need to be so wound up, like he doesn't have to micromanage every single thing. Who is so naturally _good_ , that Louis can't fathom it, can't wrap his head around it. Harry feels like a blessing, feels like everything that Louis never deserved but got anyway.

James' grin widens. "He's truly something, isn't he? He's special—for everyone, yes, but I think most especially for you."

Louis shrugs, his face heating. "He's alright," he says. "Um, I mean, he's great, and yeah, okay, he's sort of special to me."

"'Sort of special'?" Nick asks, with a shit-eating grin on his face. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

Louis laughs, and reaches over to slap him on the arm. "Shut it, Grimshaw."

. . .

"You alright?" Louis asks, sitting on the bed in Harry's room. Harry's been rather timid ever since Louis entered the room a while ago, which is strange, because Harry isn't timid. A bit quiet and a lot well-behaved, yes, but never timid.

"Hm?" Harry asks, tearing his eyes away from where he's looking out the (barred window). He shoots Louis a small smile, one that obviously doesn't reach his eyes. "Oh, I'm fine, don't worry about it."

It's obvious that he's lying, but Louis doesn't call him out on it. Instead, he lies down on the bed, covering his eyes with his forearm, and closes his eyes.

They're all supposed to be getting some rest for the heist later, but Louis doesn't feel like resting. Doesn't feel like doing much of anything, actually, but spend some time with Harry. Except Harry's distant, timid, sticking to looking outside the window instead of saying anything to Louis.

He knows it's kind of hard for Harry, having been trapped in this house for so long. He knows that it goes against every fibre of Harry's being to be sitting here, privy to their plans to commit crime, and not being able to do anything about it. Not being able to report it to the police, or round them up and arrest them, or whatever. Not being able to utilize his training to stop this heist from pushing through.

When Louis had entered the room a while ago, Harry had looked like he was about to make a run for it. Of course, he didn't eventually, and instead, kissed Louis on the cheek and went to sit by the window, but Louis can't stop thinking about his expression now. Can't stop thinking about the sudden steel in his eyes, the sudden determination, the way his muscles tensed and he seemed ready to stand up and run out.

Louis is a horrible person for bringing him here. Louis is a horrible person for keeping him here.

And Louis is a horrible person because if given the chance to start over, Louis would still choose to do the exact same thing.

He sighs, shifting on the bed. Harry's quiet, yes, but Louis doesn't feel like he has the right to disturb him, to bring him out of his thoughts. Maybe he should just take this opportunity to rest for the heist. To nap, maybe, on these pillows that smell like Harry.

It's a few minutes of him trying to nap when he feels the bed dip, somewhere by his feet. Louis tries not to smile, tries to hold his breath as Harry crawls up the bed, hovering over Louis.

Louis feels Harry brush a kiss on the inside of his wrist, and it makes goose bumps erupt all over Louis' skin.

"I know you're awake, Lou," Harry says. He sounds amused, like Louis is something of a particularly endearing animal.

Louis sighs, pretending to sound put-upon. "I'm not," he replies. He doesn't take the arm off his face. "I'm sleeping, Harry."

"No, you're not," Harry replies, and then one of his hands is encircling Louis' wrist and taking it off his face. Louis blinks up at Harry's face a few times, adjusting to the light.

Harry's smiling at him, his dimples digging craters into his cheeks, his hair long enough to brush Louis' face. He looks so pretty like this, above Louis, and Louis can't help but grin at him in response.

"Hi."

"Hi yourself," Harry responds. He leans down, presses a gentle kiss on the tip of Louis' nose, and Louis closes his eyes, enjoys the sensation. "Did you have a nice nap?"

"It was nice for like, two minutes," Louis grumbles. "And then someone decided to disturb me."

"Sorry," Harry says unapologetically. "You just looked so nice like that. I couldn't help myself."

"Like that's new," Louis scoffs. He winds his arms around Harry's neck though, to show that there's no hard feelings. "You can never help yourself when it comes to me."

"That's true," Harry replies, pretending to look deep in thought. "I might have a problem."

"Might have to go to therapy," Louis suggests. "Might need a cure or something."

Harry shakes his head. "Nah," he says, leaning down to brush the softest of kisses on Louis' lips. "If this is a problem, I think I'm willing to live with it."

He doesn't let Louis respond, simply catches Louis' lips in between his own. Louis opens his mouth, lets Harry lick into it, lets Harry paint murals and frescos on the roof of Louis' mouth.

 Harry pulls away after a while, but not before nipping at Louis' bottom lip. He looks down at Louis, his eyes obviously tracing the lines of Louis' face, before he's blurting out, "Tonight, huh?"

Louis shifts uncomfortably. "Uh, yeah," he says. He tears his eyes away from Harry's, focuses on the high point of Harry's cheekbone. "Yeah, it's tonight."

 _We're stealing, tonight,_ he thinks. _We're stealing and then we're running and I'm never going to see you again._

Harry must be able to read it in his eyes, because his expression drops, ever so slightly. "Oh," he breathes out, quietly.

Louis forces himself to nod. "Yeah."

It's silent for a bit. Louis can't hear anything else but the loud thump of his heart, ringing in his ears, and he wonders if Harry can hear it too. Wonders if Harry can understand the nuances of each beat, the way it tells the story of Louis, a boy with sticky fingers, a boy who, right now, doesn't want to let go of this one blessing, even though he knows he should.

"I'll miss you," Harry offers up the three words quietly, sadly, as if it were the most personal thing he's ever said to Louis.

In a way, it probably is. They can talk about everything and anything under the sun, can tease and tell stories and equivocate to their heart's content, but the truest messages are the ones that are simple, the ones that can be reduced into three words.

"I'll miss you all," Harry continues. "I'll miss Niall laughing, Liam looking confused, Zayn pretending to be bored, Sophia being smart, Nick being loud, James being all mysterious even though he's really not—" he laughs wetly at that "—and you, I suppose."

Louis tries to sound affronted. "You suppose?"

Harry chuckles. "I suppose," he confirms. He reaches out, carding a hand through Louis' fringe. "I have to say that because if I don't, I'm afraid I won't be able to stop myself."

"Stop yourself from what?" Louis asks.

"From telling you everything," Harry replies. He moves his hand down to cradle at Louis' jaw. "From telling you that I'll miss you the most. I'll miss the way you pretend to look annoyed and disinterested at everything I say, even though I know for a fact you're listening just as intently as the others. I'll miss the way you try to pick fights with me over the littlest things. I'll miss the way you pretend not to want to cuddle, but then sink into it like some affection-deprived cat."

Louis makes a noise at that. "Hey, I'm not affection-deprived."

"Of course you're not," Harry says agreeably. Louis pinches him lightly. "I'll miss the way you tease me about everything. I'll miss the way you play with my hair, when we cuddle. I'll especially miss the way you refuse to let me take control and the way you fight me, even until the last minute." He takes a deep breath. "I'll even miss the way you smell."

Louis makes a face. "That's weird, Harry."

"Maybe," Harry replies, "but I really will miss it." He shrugs. "And telling you all that is sappy and gross, which is why I just have to say 'I suppose' and keep it all to myself."

Louis laughs, pulling him down by the neck to join their lips together. "I'll miss you too, weirdo," he says. "I'll miss you being weird."

"What a wonderful response," Harry says dryly. "I've bared my heart out to you and you just say, 'I'll miss you being weird'."

"Shut up," Louis laughs, and then he doesn't let Harry speak. He kisses Harry like he's dying, like this is the last chance he'll ever get, and maybe, in a way, it might be. He doesn't know when he'll be able to kiss Harry like this again, gentle and unhurried, but still passionate. He doesn't know when he'll get the chance to explore Harry's mouth with his tongue, to hear the way he moans into Louis' mouth. He doesn't know if they'll even see each other again.

He doesn't know a lot of things, but he knows that if he could, he would live his life kissing Harry until forever.

Harry moans into Louis' mouth, grinding down on Louis. He's hard already, and Louis would make fun of him if Louis wasn't in a similar state. Harry makes him feel like a teenager again, always up and ready to go.

The thought makes him break off the kiss and laugh, and Harry just takes it into stride, moving to kiss at beneath Louis' jaw.

"What's so funny?" He asks, grazing his teeth on the sensitive skin on Louis' neck.

Louis shivers. "You make me feel like a teenager," he replies honestly, tilting his head.

"And that's a bad thing?"

"No," Louis says. He bucks his hips up, pressing his hardness onto Harry's hip. "It just means that around you, I'm always ready to go."

Harry laughs, and then he's pulling away to hover at Louis. "What do you say we go right now?"

Louis rolls his eyes. "I thought we were already going," he replies. "If we aren't, then I'm going to be very mad, Agent Styles."

"Ooh, that's hot," Harry says, grinning wickedly at Louis. "How about you call me Agent Styles in bed?"

"Really?" Louis asks, quirking an eyebrow. "You're just going to throw away all the work you put into getting me to call you Harry?"

Harry shakes his head. "Wrong decision, that."

He doesn't give Louis a chance to respond, instead leans down and kisses him, hard. He grinds down on Louis, making Louis gasp into his mouth. Harry does it again, letting their clothed cocks slide together, and it's good, yes, but Louis doesn't want to come like this. He wants to come on Harry's cock.

"Wait," he blurts, and pulls away. Harry's panting heavily above him, his eyes already blown. "I have a condom in my pocket."

Harry blinks at him. "You came here prepared," He says slowly. "You came here with the intention of getting fucked, didn't you?"

"No, I didn't." Louis feels his ears redden, but he shifts on the bed, trying to get the condom out of the pocket of his sweats.

"You did," Harry says, laughing. "Oh my god, you totally did!"

Louis manages to fish it out of his pocket, and he throws it at Harry. "If you don't stop _right now_ , you aren't getting anywhere near my dick at all."

 "Sorry," Harry says, but he's still grinning like Christmas came early. He leans over and grabs the lube from the bedside table, and places it on Louis' chest, together with the condom packet. "Hold that for me, will you?"

Louis rolls his eyes, but does as he's told.

Harry quickly divests himself of his clothes, tossing it on the bedroom floor. He helps Louis do the same, and when they're both naked, Harry leans down and kisses him again, hot and wet and lush and so fucking good.

He kisses so well, Harry does. Louis doesn't think he'll ever get tired of the way Harry kisses.

"How many fingers?" Harry pants into his mouth a few moments later. He grinds down, and the skin-on-skin contact makes Louis feel like he's being set ablaze.

"Three," Louis gasps, tossing his head back. Harry grinds down again, and Louis moans, spreading his legs. "Fuck, three please, get them in me now, I—"

"Shh," Harry says, infuriatingly. He reaches over and uncaps the bottle of lube, slicking up his fingers. "You're good, baby."

He presses one finger into Louis, and the cold of it makes him shiver, makes him dig his nails into Harry's shoulders. Harry doesn't seem to notice, doesn't stop until his long finger is inside Louis' hole.

"God," He says, his voice deep, and the sound of it makes more blood flow onto Louis' cock. He fucks Louis with it lazily, obviously watching the way Louis just stretches and takes him easily. "Look at you."

"Another," Louis gasps. He clenches around the finger moving inside him, moaning. Harry spends a few more minutes fucking Louis with it, and it's _good_ , but it's not enough. "Another, please."

"Relax," Harry chides, but he's pulling his finger out fully. He comes back with two fingers, this time, pressing them slowly into Louis' hole. Louis exhales, forcing himself to adjust to the two fingers Harry is pushing in.

Harry scissors them, stretching Louis out even more. It feels so good, being stretched open like this, feels so nice being stretched full with fingers.

"You have _such_ a pretty bum," Harry says, almost reverently. His tongue darts out to wet his lips. "So fucking pretty."

"Harry," Louis whines, as Harry pushes his fingers deeper into Louis. Harry's fingers eventually brush against Louis' prostate, and Louis groans, his back arching up above the bed.

"Again," Louis demands. His fingers are still digging onto Harry's shoulders, and Louis is pretty sure they're going to leave welts, but Harry doesn't pay any attention to it. "Again, again, again—"

"Re _lax_ ," Harry repeats, huffing, but he does do as he's told. Louis keens, feeling like he's about to burst. Harry's fingers feel _so fucking good_ , in him, and he's lost in the sensations, lost in the mixture of pain and pleasure, and God, he wants more.

"Gimme another," Louis demands. He forces himself to let go of Harry's shoulders; instead, he grabs at Harry's hair, pulling at it. "Another, Harry."

"So bossy, you," Harry tsks, but he does as he's told. He pushes three fingers past Louis' rim, immediately aiming for Louis' prostate. Louis whines as he presses down on it, his hips bucking up to ride Harry's fingers the best he can. His cock is rock hard, already wet at the tip, and he's pretty sure Harry's in the same state.

"Harry, I—" he breaks off into a moan as Harry keeps pressing his fingers down on it. Already, he can feel the familiar heat coiling, can already feel it building in his belly.

"Fuck, you're so," Harry murmurs, his eyes glassy. He's still pressing his fingers against Louis' prostate, and Louis can't do anything but gasp, can't do anything but arch up into Harry and take it. "I want to keep you like this, all spread out and underneath me."

"Please," Louis moans. He shifts on the bed, moaning when Harry applies more pressure on his prostate. "Don't tease."

"I could finger you for hours," Harry admits, lazily moving his fingers in out. "Days, even. Fuck, I want to finger you until you _cry_."

"Harry," Louis gasps, bucking his hips up. He grabs two fistfuls of Harry's hair and _pulls_ , hard.. "Please, I—"

He doesn't get to finish that thought, because Harry's grabbing at his wrists with his free hand, pulling them away from his hair, and holding them above Louis' head.

"Don't move them," Harry orders, and his tone makes a shiver run down Louis' spine. He blinks up dazedly at Harry, who's looking down at him, his eyes dark. "Don't you _dare_ move them."

There's a moment.

And then slowly, Harry lets go of them. Louis keeps them there obediently. His heart is hammering in his chest, and like this, he feels trapped, tied down, like he's just been handcuffed onto the bed again.

Harry pulls his fingers away from Louis' hole, and then he's sitting back, his eyes raking over Louis. Louis flushes; like this he's exposed, as if he's been offered up for Harry to devour, and Louis likes the feeling more than he should.

"God," Harry says, almost reverently. He reaches out and brushes a thumb against Louis' nipple, making Louis shiver. "All spread out just for me."

"For you," Louis pants, spreading his legs wider. He keeps his hands firmly in place, though. "Harry, please, _fuck me_."

"I will," Harry reassures, not moving at all. Louis can see his massive cock, red and already wet at the tip. God, he _wants_. "Just having a look first."

He ducks down, pressing his lips onto Louis'. He kisses Louis filthily, dirtily, and Louis moans, overwhelmed.

"`m gonna fuck you now, okay?" Harry murmurs when he pulls away. He tears open the condom packet with his teeth.

"Please," Louis whines. He watches as Harry rolls the condom down onto his cock, before slicking himself up with the lube. "Fuck me."

"I'm gonna fuck you so good," Harry promises, and then he's bending Louis' leg up and pushing in slowly, letting Louis take him inch-by-inch.

Louis had known he was huge, but right now he feels _massive_ , like he's about to split Louis in two.It hurts, but Louis loves it, relishes in the feeling. He wants to be able to feel Harry tomorrow, wants to be able to feel him for the next week.

"You okay, baby?" Harry asks, when he's fully inside Louis. He's not moving, letting Louis adjust to the stretch, and Louis closes his eyes, clenching around Harry's cock. Harry's fingers are digging into his hips, and Louis feels a sense of pleasure at the thought of Harry marking him up, leaving bruises on his skin.

"Yeah," he mumbles , and then shifts, trying to get used to the feeling of Harry's cock in him. Harry doesn't move, all the while, but Louis can see that he really wants to, can see the way he's stopping himself. "You can move now."

And that's all Harry needs before he's thrusting into Louis.

He fucks Louis roughly, deeply, a complete antithesis from the way he kisses. He fucks Louis hard, like a crest of the wave, and Louis can do nothing but moan, can do nothing but spread his legs and ride it out.

Harry had fucked him like this too then, he remembers—had fucked Louis like it was the last thing he was ever going to do in his life. He'd dug his fingers deep into Louis' skin, hard enough to make bruises bloom like purple flowers on his skin.

Louis moans at a particular hard thrust, arching up above the bed. His hands come down to grip at Harry's hair, and he pulls, hard.

Harry stills for a bit, and before Louis can even blink, he's got Louis' wrists in one hand, and he's pinning them onto the bed, above Louis' head.

"I _told_ you not to move them," he growls, panting. Louis keens as Harry starts fucking into him again, harder. "I told you not to fucking move them."

"Oh," Louis gasps, when Harry's next thrust hits his prostate. He thrashes a bit, trying to move around, but Harry doesn't even budge, his hand holding Louis' wrists down.

"Don't move them," he orders again, his voice rough. "Don't _fucking_ move them."

"Harry," Louis begs. He throws his head back and whines, high in his throat, and Harry uses that opportunity to mark Louis' neck up. "Touch me, _please_ , I need—"

And then the rest of his sentence is lost in the depths of Harry's mouth. Harry licks into his mouth, leaving hot, bruising kisses onto Louis' lips, and Louis gasps when he feels Harry's hand circle around his cock.

Harry starts to jerk him off in time to the thrusts, and Louis tries to latch onto something, anything, but Harry's still got his hands pinned down on the bed. Like this, Louis is unable to move, and it's so _fucking hot_ , being completely at Harry's mercy like this, that it makes Louis keen, makes him spill into Harry's hand and all over his stomach.

Harry kisses him as he comes, fucks him through his orgasm, until Louis is spent and panting, blinking sweat and tears from his eyes. Harry thrusts a few more times before he's comes inside Louis, spilling into the condom, his grip on Louis' wrists slackening.

He collapses against Louis' spent, pressing Louis into the mattress. Louis uses a hand to card through Harry's sweaty hair, uses his fingers to run through the untangle the knots formed.

He presses a kiss onto Harry's head. "I really will miss you, weirdo," he whispers quietly.

Harry nuzzles into Louis' neck, pressing his own kiss there, on the blooming marks. "I'll miss you too, Lou."

And that's that.

(Later, Louis wakes up to find Harry sound asleep beside him. It's dusk, and the soft light of the afternoon makes him look unreal, almost ethereal. He looks like a star, or perhaps some shooting thing—a meteor, or a comet, maybe. Louis watches as he breathes, as his chest rises and falls, watches the way the light seems to bend to him, making him look like the most beautiful thing to ever exist.

And Louis wants to save this moment, wants to keep him like this forever, naked and asleep in bed, but he knows better—he knows that Harry is a star, and you cannot keep stars like this to yourself. He knows that stars don't belong here, don't belong in dusty bedrooms beside boys with sticky fingers. He knows that stars belong in the sky and boys belong on the ground, and even a boy with the stickiest fingers will never be able to keep a star down.

So he gets dressed—slowly, quietly. Harry doesn't stir at all, too lost in his dreams, and that's good, because that makes saying goodbye that much easier. A sleeping Harry won't draw him in with sea foam green eyes and cherry-red lips. A sleeping Harry won't entice him to _stay_.

He takes a mental picture, embeds it into his brain, makes sure he has something to remember this by. Then he presses a feather-light kiss onto Harry's hair, before he's making his way out the door, closing it gently.

He doesn't lock the door behind him anymore.)

. . .

As much as he wants to, Louis won't ever remember every single detail of the heist. It had been a blur—days and weeks of preparation culminating into a single hour that had seemed to pass by in the blink of an eye. He remembers, of course, actually doing the motions, but to this day, he can never remember what it was he was thinking, where he had summoned the strength, the strange clarity of mind he had donned during that hour.

He remembers the get-away clearly though, remembers the feeling of exhilaration, remembers the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He remembers the weight of the money in his hand—how heavy each sack was, how many sacks there were. Remembers how a hundred and fifty million looked like. Felt like.

And then he remembers the feeling of incredulous disbelief at them being able to walk out of the Hadid casino, with a hundred and fifty million in their bags, completely scot-free. Remembers loading it into their van, remembers James starting it up coolly, driving with nonchalant ease for the next few blocks until it's safe to go fast.

. . .

The townhouse James takes them to is  old, quaint, with a bit of moss growing on the facade and a squeaky roof. It was his grandparents', James tells them, and is to be their headquarters for the foreseeable future.

And it's habitable and spacious enough, but it's not _home_ in the way their old house was. The old house was a colourful canvas of memories—Louis had his best and worst times there—and this new one is empty, unfamiliar. Blank.

Plus, there's absolutely no trace of Harry.

That's the sad part, Louis thinks—he can probably create new memories in this house, but his memories of Harry will always be limited to their old headquarters. There's nothing to remember him here, and Louis won't even have the chance to create new ones. There'll be nothing to remember him by, nothing but the bruises on his skin and on his neck that will fade over time.

Nick plops down beside Louis on one of the sofas, stretching and sighing loudly. His bag of money is on the floor, by his feet, and he yawns, shutting his eyes. "`m beat."

"At least keep the money first, Nicholas," James scolds, hurrying away with another bag filled with money. He's got dark circles beneath his eyes, proof of the work he's done in organizing and putting together this heist. He deserves a good, long sleep after this.

The rest of the team look exhausted, too—the adrenaline running through their veins having worn off during the car ride. Both Sophia and Zayn have already fallen asleep on the other sofa, and Liam blinks at them sleepily, seemingly torn between giving Zayn or Sophia the throw he found on the back of the couch. Niall has already retreated upstairs, mumbling something about claiming a room and going to sleep for a hundred years.

Louis, however, is wide awake. He feels wired, twitchy—antsy, like he's waiting for something. Which, he supposes, he is.

Nick, without opening his eyes, slaps him on the thigh. "Stop thinking," he says. "I can hear you thinking from here. Which, no. Rest now."

Louis scowls at him and slaps him right back on the thigh. "Go to your room then, if you want to sleep."

"Haven't got a room," Nick replies, easily. "Attic isn't clean yet." He sighs, opening his eyes and shifting, so he's looking right at Louis. "What are you thinking about, anyway?"

Everything. "Nothing," he mumbles. "It's nothing."

Nick, however, doesn't buy it. "Hey," he says kindly, a far cry from the usually sarcastic Nick that Louis knows, "I know the entire thing with Harry sucks. But you'll be okay, yeah?"

Louis shakes his head. "I'm not thinking about Harry."

"Look, I liked Harry too," Nick continues. "Probably not as much as you did, but, well, I thought he was a great person. Maybe in a different circumstance, we could've been friends."

Louis gasps. "Are you getting all soppy with me now, Grimshaw? I never thought I'd see the day."

Nick scowls at him. "Shut up," he says, slapping Louis on the thigh again. Louis slaps him right back. "I'm just saying that the circumstances suck, everything sucks, and you have the right to be sad about it, I respect that, but please don't be sad around me. Contrary to popular belief, I do consider you my friend, Tomlinson, and seeing you sad makes me stressed and me being stressed gives me unnecessary wrinkles." He frowns. "I think I already got some from this conversation."

Louis can't help it, he laughs. "You're such a twat."

"So are you," Nick shoots back. He stretches and yawns, again. "I know you're probably not going to sleep tonight—" Louis makes a noise of assent "—and nothing I say will probably convince you of doing that, so I'm gonna _try_ and stay up with you. I think I'm the only one who knows what you're waiting for."

Louis smiles. "Yeah," he says, turning to look over at the other couch. Liam has decided to keep the throw for himself, and now he's squeezed in between Zayn and Sophia, snoring softly. They make quite the picture. "Yeah, some company would be nice."

Nick shrugs, then picks up the remote from the coffee table to turn on the telly. He flicks through a few late night channels, before he settles on one, and hands the remote to Louis. They spend the next few hours mindlessly watching the late night programmes, not really absorbing anything.

At around four in the morning, Nick dozes off, his head bent at a really weird angle. Louis stays up, still unable to sleep, watching the show mindlessly. It's at around six am when he finally sees it.

Their heist, the headlining story on the news.

There's footage of Scotland Yard at the scene of the three casinos, footage of them examining the vault that Louis broke open the night before. There are reports of eye-witnesses supposedly seeing their van speed of into the night (all inaccurate), reports of people hearing something going on (all false).

It doesn't end there, though—there's also footage of Scotland Yard outside their old headquarters, and Louis feels a pang in his heart when he sees the front door blocked off with police tape. Their names are also mentioned in the news, and facial composites are flashed on the screen—they didn't get Louis' nose quite right, he notes, distantly. Their entire modus operandi is then detailed, their charities mentioned, and instantly, Louis knows what this means. These are all facts they've kept within their team, facts that nobody would know unless, of course, they were privy to what their team does inside the headquarters.

Louis lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Harry's free.

. . .

They all collectively decide to lay low, for a while. Although Scotland Yard doesn't have much evidence on them, they all agree that it's best to keep safe, best to wait for this entire thing to blow over before they plan another heist. They've got enough to keep them alive for quite a while (or until they turn eighty, if Louis is being honest) and the charities they support are still doing well.

Louis gets used to the new headquarters, eventually growing fond of the moss-covered walls. He can't stand the squeaky roof, and he complains and whines about it until James rolls his eyes and gets it fixed.

He also tries to start a vegetable garden in the backyard (the only things that grow properly are the carrots, which, _ugh_ ), paints the walls in his room different colours, plays footie with the boys in the backyard, and snipes at Nick and rigs his room with pranks.

And before he knows it, one month in the headquarters becomes two, becomes three, until Louis blinks and he's been staying in this quaint little house on the outskirts of London for about six months. In the six months, there have been quite a few new memories—the one of Liam climbing onto the roof to save a kitten while drunk comes to mind—and he finds that it's not so bad. It's not home, but it's not so bad.

It still doesn't have Harry, though.

He hasn't seen nor heard from Harry ever since Fight Night, and that's fine, that's something Louis was expecting. It hurts, but well, what can Louis do. There's no way they would have been able to develop what they had outside the confines of the house, and there's no way Harry would decide to keep contact with a bunch of nice thieves and kind kidnappers. This is Harry, _government agent Styles_ , someone who takes his training seriously, someone who ratted them out, described them down to the last detail the instant he was set free.

And he would be so ready to move on, to brush Harry off as one of those fever dreams, except Nick won't _let_ him. After four months in the new headquarters, Nick tells him that Harry quit his job at the MI6. Louis has no idea what to do with that information. He doesn't know why Nick is even telling him this.

It gets worse—Nick then periodically updates Louis with what's happening in Harry's life, even though Louis doesn't ask. He tells Louis over dinner that Harry's now working at a bakery, serving little old ladies their bread and charming them with his dimples. He tells Louis during film night that Harry moved out of his old flat and into a new one on the other side of the city. He tells Louis while he's playing footie that Harry's changed his phone number, and Louis can get it, if he wants it.

Louis kind of wants to kick the ball in his face.

Instead, he settles for kicking the ball as hard as he can into his makeshift goal. "Why are you telling me all this?" He asks, exasperated. He wipes a hand through his brow and winces at how sweaty his forehead is. "I get it, he quit his job, he's moved on, he's living his life, blah blah, etcetera, you don't have to rub it in my face."

Nick gives him a look. "I'm telling you this, because I fully expect you to _do_ something about it."

"What am I going to do?" He asks pretending to be dumb, and Nick just rolls his eyes and leaves.

And the thing is, he _does_ know what Nick wants him to do, knows what everyone else wants him to do too, but he doesn't know if he can actually bring himself to. He doesn't know if he's just holding on to the past, holding onto something that's artificial, something that's not there anymore now that Harry's out and back in society. He doesn't know if the spark between them will still exist.

Because obviously, if Harry wanted a boyfriend or a partner or whatever, he would probably want someone who's a bit more well-adjusted. Someone normal, with a good income and a boring job. Someone who doesn't kidnap. Someone who doesn't steal millions of dollars from hotels and casinos.

Someone who isn't Louis.

It takes him a while to muster up the courage—a year, to be more specific—but eventually he does give in. He's going to see Harry, going to see if what they had between them was a product of the close confines of the headquarters, or something more, something purer, like Nick and Sophia and Zayn and James said. He's going to see if Harry has truly moved on and left him in the dust. And if he has, then Louis' going to go and get closure. So that he can move on too.

. . .

Harry's new building is different, and Louis keeps his head down as he follows someone to get inside. The entire heist thing may have already blown over, the news all but forgotten, but Louis is still scared of being recognized. It's not safe just yet.

He gets lost in the hallways, which are more labyrinth-like than Harry's old building (seriously, it's less a block of flats and more like a really confusing hotel) and ends up on the wrong floor twice, but eventually, he's standing outside Harry's flat, staring at the light brown door.

He shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath, and knocks.

Immediately, there's a voice. "Just a mo," Harry calls, and Louis bites his lip to keep from grinning, just at the sound of Harry's voice. He's so pathetic. He _really_ has to get it together.

Besides, he doesn't even know if Harry _wants_ to see him again.

Louis hears the sound of footsteps, the lock being turned, and then suddenly there's Harry, standing in the doorway, in all his glory. His hair is in a bun, something that Louis hasn't seen in a long time, but he's exactly as beautiful as Louis remembered, staring at Louis with sea foam green eyes and cherry-red lips.

Or perhaps even more so. 

There's a spot of flour on his cheekbone, and Louis resists the urge to wipe it with his thumb. He can't do that, not yet.

"Hi," he manages to croak out, when the silence has gotten past dramatic and is moving into awkward territory. Harry doesn't say anything, doesn't even smile; he simply studies Louis, his green eyes intense, blazing.

"Hi," he answers, eventually, and Louis' heart thumps at sound of his voice. He doesn't say anything else, just stands there and stares at Louis the same way Louis stares at him.

Louis' palms are sweaty, and he curls them into fists, hard enough that his fingerprints dig into his palm. That grounds him, brings him back to earth, forces him to take a deep breath and blurt out, "How are you?"

He winces right after that, but, well, it's better than just standing in silence, right?

Harry blinks at him. "Fine," he answers, leaning against the door frame. He looks cool, casual, collected, the opposite of what Louis is feeling, right now.

This was a mistake.

He should go.

Louis takes a deep breath, holding the air in his lungs, before letting it all out in one fell swoop. "I should go," he exhales, shutting his eyes so as not to see Harry's reaction. "Sorry, I just—I wanted to, um, I—"

He cuts himself off, shaking his head, before turning around. He's taken two steps away from Harry when Harry's voice rings out.

"You're quite scary, aren't you?"

Louis whirls around so fast his vision spins, and he has to take a moment to orient himself. "Pardon?"

"How'd you find me?" Harry asks, and he doesn't look angry, not at all. Instead he looks thoughtful, curious.

Louis shrugs. "Nick," he says. "He's really good at that."

That makes Harry smile a bit, enough so that Louis sees his dimple pop out. "Like I said, scary."

"Not scary," Louis protests. "Efficient."

Harry shakes his head, the smile still playing on his lips. "Efficient?" He asks, a teasing lilt to his voice. "Then riddle me this: why did it take you so long to find me?"

Louis freezes, staring straight at Harry. His heart is beating wildly in his chest, tapping out irregular patterns in his chest cavity, and it kind of hurts, but it's exhilarating. "We found you a long time ago," he confesses. "I just wanted to give you space to adjust into normal society."

"Please," Harry says. He's full-on grinning now, which makes Louis' heart stutter even more. "After two weeks in normal society, I was already itching to find you." His nose scrunches. "I don't think I like not being kidnapped if you're not with me."

And Louis' heart goes haywire, his brain short-circuits. He manages to stay calm though, to put on a poker face, despite the sudden electricity shooting through his veins. "That might just be the Stockholm Syndrome talking," he points out.

Harry shakes his head. "Not the Stockholm Syndrome," he replies cheekily. "The Louis Syndrome."

Louis groans. "That was horrible."

"Don't think I don't know about that time you created the 'Styles Syndrome'," Harry shoots back. He laughs, and the sounds makes butterflies erupt in Louis' stomach. He wishes he were joking, but alas. He has now turned into the heroine in a romantic novel.

"You're not supposed to know about that," Louis replies, scandalized. He places his hands over his heart for effect. "That was a _secret_."

"Oops?" Harry shrugs, looking innocent and mischievous all at once. Louis wants to kiss him so bad.

He keeps his distance, though, crossing his arms. He doesn't know if he's allowed to yet.

Harry though, seems to understand what Louis' thinking, because he's rolling his eyes and sighing. "Come here," he orders, reaching out.

Louis hesitates, then thinks _fuck it_. He takes two steps forward, looking nervously at Harry. Harry looks at him for a few more moments, before he's sweeping Louis up into his arms and burying his face in his hair.

Harry feels warm and solid beneath his palms, and then suddenly Louis feels content. Calm. Relaxed. Like he's just arrived home.

(Maybe he _is_ home. Maybe home was never their old headquarters in the heart of London, but instead a person who bakes cupcakes and makes horrible puns and sings songs at the top of his lungs. Maybe home was in a person all along, a person with curly hair and dimples and sea foam green eyes, who looked at Louis like he hung the stars. Maybe home was in Harry, all this time.)

Harry pulls away a bit, just far enough to cradle Louis' face in between his warm hands. "I understand why you left me," he says, his thumbs stroking Louis' cheeks. "And I forgive you for it. But you are never allowed to leave me again, do you hear?"

Louis nods, as best as he can. "I'm never leaving you," he promises, and Harry smiles like the dawn.

Harry kisses him then, a soft, sweet, gentle kiss that feels like baby butterflies testing their wings, flashing their colours for the first time. Harry kisses him and it's warm, like it's everything, like it's all Louis needed, all Louis will ever need to survive. Harry kisses him and it's a beginning.

It's perfect.

(It's even more perfect when Dusty comes out and meows at them, winding between their legs, making them laugh into each other's mouths.)

. . .

"So," James says, in the living room of their headquarters. He claps his hands, looking gleeful and excited. "Anyone got anything for us?"

"We could rob a bank," Niall suggests, raising a hand. He's grinning, excited at the prospect. A year of laying low has made them all restless, searching for the adrenaline rush that comes with big heists. "For a change, you know, cause casinos are _so_ last year." He pauses. "Besides, they're still looking for us, I think."

"We could," Liam says slowly, thoughtfully, "but also, we could rob a museum. Art heists always look so cool."

"Art heists are much more complicated than casino heists," Zayn objects, raising a hand to call attention to himself. "It's a completely different thing."

"But it's a challenge," argues Sophia from beside Niall. "Something we've never done before. I think it'll be fun."

"Do you know the first thing about preparing for an art heist, Sophia?" Nick asks.

"No," she replies, shrugging, "but Google exists, so."

"I think we should stick to casinos for now," James interjects, peaceably. "Save the other experimental heists for next time, when we're having some sort of team mid-life crisis." He crosses his arms, and despite the twinkle in his eye, he still looks like every bit of the leader they've come to know and respect. "Any suggestions?"

"I have one," Harry says slowly, thoughtfully, from beside Louis. He turns to look at Louis beside him and Louis smiles at him reassuringly, reaching out to place his hand on his thigh. "It's a bit, uh, strange though, and I'm not sure if it's plausible."

"It's just a suggestion, love," Louis says gently. "I'm sure the team would love to hear it."

The team nods in assent, all their eyes on Harry. Harry flushes, still not used to being a part of the team. It hasn't been long, maybe around two weeks since they inducted Harry, and despite the entire kidnapping thing, it's great. He fits them perfectly, like a puzzle piece they didn't know they were missing.

"I just think that we're limiting ourselves," Harry continues, despite the flush on his cheeks. He looks very pretty with his cheeks all red from the attention. Louis kind of wants to kiss him a bit. Or maybe a lot. At least until his mouth matches the colour of his cheeks. "London's quite big, yes, and it does have a lot of casinos, but we shouldn't just stick here. I think we should branch out."

"What, like to Manchester?" Liam asks.

"...Yes," Harry agrees slowly. "But we can go even further. International, maybe."

"Ireland?" Niall asks. He crosses his arms and furrows his brow, frowning at the mental image. "Don't touch Ireland."

"Okay," Harry answers, placating, "but think further. There are so many places out there, so many five-star hotels and casinos that's just overflowing with cash." He grins, and ticks them off with his fingers. "Dubai. Monaco. Puerto Rico. The possibilities are endless."

"What are you saying, Harry?" James asks, intrigued. Louis can see the excitement dancing behind his eyes, how he's just _itching_ to get back out there.

"I'm saying," Harry slips his hand into Louis', squeezing it. Louis squeezes back, reassuring, before lifting their joined hands and pressing a kiss onto Harry's knuckles. He knows what Harry's going to say; Harry had told him the idea late last night, right before they fell asleep.

Harry shoots him a small smile, one that Louis returns easily, then takes a deep breath, psyching himself up. When he turns back to the team, he looks cheeky, almost smug.

"How do you all feel about Las Vegas?"

And judging by the excited faces of his team, Louis knows that this year is going to be a fantastic one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of the Leviathan vault and its solution is something I can't take credit for; that goes to the writers of Elementary, more specifically those who wrote S01E10.
> 
> The original prompt, if you were curious:
> 
>   _So, I was thinking this could be Ocean's Twelve meets Mission Impossible meets James Bond. (?) Or something like that. I just want a Big Heist fic where Louis is preparing to make a hit with his friends, Zayn, Niall and Liam. It can be a casino, a museum, a big bank, or something else the author thinks of._  
>  _He's a world famous white collar thief and Harry is the FBI/CIA/MI6/Interpol secret agent hired to stop him._  
>  _However, this isn't their first time meeting. Some years ago, while trying to stop him from commiting a big crime, Harry tries to seduce him, and Louis realizes his intentions. They become enemies after that, and now, it's personal._  
>  _So you can let your imagination run free, really, I just want some enemies to loves type of thing, oh, and also some smut, if that's your thing. ***Due to personal preferences, I would appreciate it if you made it sub!Louis. Not like full on BDSM or anything, I just like the aspect of Harry being able to control him a bit in the bedroom, since he can't do it outside of it._  
>  _You can finish with Harry quitting his job as a secret agent, and joining Louis' ring of thieves._
> 
> Fic post is [here ](http://britishhusbands.tumblr.com/post/144494852798/somethin-about-you-598k-by)
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://missandrogyny.tumblr.com)!


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